Moriarty's Apprentice
by The Misty Jewel
Summary: The struggles of a girl name Rachel, who Moriarty mentors to be his successor. - Rated K for darker twists.
1. Chapter 1

**Moriarty's Apprentice**

By The Misty Jewel

Chapter 1- A Note

Rachel Burns knew they were coming. Long before she was sent to the orphanage, long before the fire. It was odd. As if she'd always known. As if she'd seen the future, just so she would be prepared. But as it was, it wasn't something she'd liked knowing.

She'd always entertained the idea she was special, in a way other than individuality. More on the lines of superiority, or smarts, or something or another like in one of her fairy tales. After all, didn't everyone at some point? But as she grew up, it stuck with her, while other people let it go. She'd always had that feeling, like something like this would happen. She just couldn't put her finger on it until it was too late.

Rachel waited, and watched through the window, as the sports car she'd been expecting for days finally pulled up to the orphanage. _They could have done this a bit faster,_ she thought to herself. _It's not as if it helped them to go slowly._

The car slowed to a stop, and a man jumped out. He had a black, important looking suit on, and an air of pride, and power. He looked at the window, knowing that Rachel knew he'd come, and checking to make sure she was there. What he saw did not disappoint. He saw Rachel all right, with her black-brown hair and stormy, angry eyes. He saw a girl who was pale from lack of playing in the sun, a girl who'd grown up much too fast. But that wasn't the point. He didn't care about that. He only cared about doing what his master told him to, for he was only the messenger.

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It had started at the park. Her mom had insisted on going on a walk, so they all got up from what they were doing, Rachel, and her mom and dad. And they went to walk at Brad Saole's Park for the evening. The summer breeze rustled her hair and shirt as she walked. They passed the wide entrance, with gray stone brick walls on either side. The statues of the founder of the park, Brad Saole, stared down on them like they were against people entering.

A man stood nearby, with a T-shirt and baggy jeans. He was chewing some gum, and crumbled up a piece of paper and threw it on the ground. Rachel, thinking it to be a wrapper, and detesting litter, picked it up to throw away, when she noticed it had writing on it. In fact, from what she could make out on the crumpled piece of trash, it seemed to be addressed to _her_. She stared at it, trying and failing to make heads or tails of the note. She looked back at the man, and he looked straight at her as well. Then he turned and walked away, leaving without a trace. She stared at the note again, wondering what it's purpose was.

When her mother caught her staring at it, she quickly recovered. "I'm just ashamed that some people are like that." Rachel assured her. And when her mom smiled, and shook her head, convinced her daughter was truly annoyed by things like litter and crime, she saved it in her pocket, and kept walking.

They walked around the whole park. Her mom made them stop several times to take pictures of deer, or of birds, or to look up some flower they'd never seen before.

She'd say, "Look at that, Rachel! When are we ever going to see deer like that so close up?" or, "These roses are simply gorgeous." And then she'd motion for Rachel to smell the thorny flowers.

And although she normally wouldn't have minded, Rachel just wanted to get away from the park, and all it's inhabitants. She felt like she was being watched. Whenever a bird chirped, she'd spin around to make sure it was real, and when they passed bikers, or joggers, or other families, she'd look at them, making sure they weren't something or someone else.

As if to make her fears real, one of the joggers that they passed looked straight at her, and Rachel was shocked to see the same man that had thrown the note. She looked at him, perplexed at why he was doing this, and he looked at her, as if seeing through her.

It all left shivers going down Rachel's spine, and she hoped the walk would be brief.

But of course, it wasn't. Rachel just wanted to get home, but her mom wanted to have the longest walk possible. Her father was neutral, since he had been bored anyway. After maybe an hour, Rachel finally convinced her mom that they'd walked enough, and with that done, they headed back.

The rest of the walk came and went quickly. It was only a short ways between the park and her neighborhood. Rachel felt like it took a million years to walk back though.

When they got to her yard, she sprinted to the door.

"What's the hurry, Rachel?" Her mom asked, clearly worried by her daughter's odd behavior.

"Nothing." She put on her best "I'm-innocent" face, and raced to the front door, opening and shutting it quickly, and rather loudly.

Rachel's mom looked at her husband, unable to identify what was going on. Mr. Burns shrugged, clearly saying he didn't have a clue either. And both, as parents do, told themselves it was just a stage, and it would pass. They had no idea how wrong they were.

Once they came in, Rachel pretended to have a stomach ache. The easiest way to get out of something. her parents immediately told her to go straight to bed, because rest, they always said, helped you get over an illness.

When Rachel was finally upstairs, she bid everyone good night, and hurried to her bedroom. When she arrived to the privacy of her space, she took the paper out. It was a faded yellow, like a phone book page, and printed on it were seven simple words:

To Rachel Burns- Take a midnight walk.

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This was where she had begun to suspect her intuition was true, but she shooed the worry away, unbelieving that she could foretell that much. _Guessing the right number out of five million is more realistic than seeing this future. _She told herself. _It's probably nothing._

She shrugged off her doubts, and tried to go to sleep. And yet she couldn't, not without knowing the note's meaning. She knew she wouldn't go on the walk unless it was absolutely necessary. For all she knew, it was a half thought out plan to kidnap her, and get ransom money. But the feeling continued, turning each minute into an hour, every hour into an eternity.

The sensation continually nagged her, not caring if she was tired and desperate for sleep. It went on, keeping her awake, late into the night, until she decided to take the walk instructed in the note. Simply to ease her panicking mind, nothing more. She tugged off the covers and got a pair of jeans on, and a jacket over her pajama top. She glanced at the clock. Two minutes to midnight. She'd be right on time.

Then, she crept downstairs, as quiet as a whisper, and into the front room. She peeked out the window, just to ease her rapidly beating heart, and was startled. For there, under the glow of the street lamp, stood a figure. A figure in a black, important looking suit, with an air of pride, and power. And this was when, without a shadow of a doubt, she knew her fears were real.

There was nothing she could do, of course. They'd already made sure of that. One way or another, they'd get what they'd come for. Rachel was just helping them along the way.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2- A Midnight Walk

Rachel sighed. There was no backing out now. She'd only get on their bad side, and therefore, in more danger. So she tugged on her favorite leather boots, soft with age, and turned to the front door. She opened it as silently as she could, not to evade their hearing, since they'd already seen her, but to make sure her parents didn't get woken up, and come downstairs and find her.

She closed the door softly, stepping out onto the welcome mat. Then she walked coolly over to the street, stopping a bit away from the man in the suit. The crisp Michigan air felt nice, but she barely noticed, since what she saw to come would make it seem as little a detail as a grain of sand was on a beach.

The figure spoke. "Hello, Rachel Burns. I presume you know why we've taken an interest in you?" The man's voice was deep, and Rachel thought she detected a mocking tone underneath all it's layers.

"I don't have a clue, you've been so vague in your invitation."Rachel tried her best to be directly insulting. She thrust out her chin, faking a prideful smile. "You have been quite rude, keeping me uninformed like this."

"Well, that is why we're taking this walk, is it not?" The man answered icily. He motioned for her to follow him as he began walking casually down the road. "My master has been quite interested in you recently. Can you guess why?"

Rachel remained silent, showing that she didn't know.

The man continued. "Well, you'll find out soon enough anyway. After all, what my master is interested in never takes long to stumbled into his hands. One way or another, Rachel, you'll find allegiance to him. It may take time, but you will."

Rachel's temper fired up. Her mom had always told her she was touchy, but she'd never realized until now. "Well you can tell your 'master' that I won't do a thing for him." She said angrily, but managed to keep her anger in check. Who were these people to meddle in her life? Why should they be able to do what they wanted with her, without her consent?

"Peace." The man said, walking alongside her now. He took a moment to continue, as if sensing she needed a second to repair her frayed nerves. "Do you know what's going to happen now?" He asked, after the long pause.

"I do." Rachel whispered, fear closing up her throat. "A convenient accident."

The man smiled in the street lamp's light. "He said you were good."

"Who are you?" She blurted out suddenly. "If you're going to mess with my life, I have to at least have a name."

"I cannot tell you my master's name yet." The man said simply. "If he wishes to tell you it, he will notify me. But if you wish to address me, you can use Ben."

"That isn't your real name, is it?" Rachel asked. The man shook his head.

"Now," he continued calmly, "I'd just like to talk. My master would like to know more about you before you meet him."

Rachel looked at the man named "Ben." She had barely talked with him for five minutes, and yet already despised him. She remained silent, consciously trying to make it as hard as possible for him to do his job.

Ben sighed. "Playing hard, huh? Very well. I'll add stubborn to the list of descriptors. I guess I'll ask questions then." He thought for a moment, then was about to ask a question when Rachel interrupted him.

"Let's play a question game, then." She'd read all about question games. She might as well, after all, she had nothing to lose. "You ask a question, then I ask one in return."

"As long as it isn't anything about me or my master's more secret workings." The man said, portraying his meaning as much of how he said the words as what he actually said.

"Fine." Rachel knew she couldn't be very picky.

"What books do you read?" He asked.

"Fantasy or mystery." Rachel looked back. Her house was well out of sight by now. They were back in the park, where it all began. "My turn. Are you a high ranking official to your master, or more of a lower worker." She knew the subject might be tender to him, but then again, that was probably why she'd asked it.

"A very high ranking official." He said, clearly proud to be so. "You might even call me one of his most important." He stopped walking, and she did the same. "What grades do you get?" He sat on a park bench.

She remained standing, not wanting to get closer than necessary. An odd question, Rachel thought, for a kidnapper or worse. But she told him, hoping to keep the game going as long as possible. "A's and A minuses." She thought for a moment. "Am I a random victim, or is there something significant about me?"

The man chuckled. "He won't tell me what, but yes. You are very important to his plans, though goodness knows why."

Rachel furrowed her brow. This was an odd situation indeed. The man asked another unimportant question. She answered quickly.

They continued for perhaps half an hour until he stopped when it was his turn. "Enough of that." He said. "This is no longer a question game. I just need to tell you something, before you head back."

"And what is it?" She asked, expecting and dreading the worst to come. She knew, of course, but she kept quiet.

"Actually several somethings." The man said, a malicious grin crossing his face, telling Rachel what she thought would happen would, indeed, happen. "One, that you should expect me again, and soon. Two, that you'll be meeting my master soon, so be prepared, and three." He paused, then pointed to a patch of sky roughly over where her house would be if it was in sight. "You see that constellation? Orion's belt?"

She nodded, foreboding twisting her stomach into a knot.

"In Greek and Roman mythology, Orion angered Gaea, the earth mother. She sent a scorpion to kill him, and it almost did, but a man called Ophiuchus revived him with an antidote." The man paused, as if letting the story sink in. "Do not anger my master, girl. He will send worse things after you than scorpions. And there won't be any antidotes to save you then."

Rachel swallowed, but it appeared that the man wasn't done. "And, this brings me to the last thing. Look down to the horizon." He pointed, and Rachel saw light coming from behind the trees. Light that would originate from where her house was. Light that meant she had been right. Right, all along.

"No." She mumbled, but it barely formed in her mouth before it tumbled out. "No! You didn't! You couldn't!"

"Why not?" He asked, then smiled that harsh smile. "Good night, Rachel. I hope we meet again soon. Oh yes, and by the way." He turned around one last time to look her straight in the eyes. "You were a lucky survivor, and this walk never happened." And with that, he turned on his heel and left, without a trace, just like the man that had thrown away the gum wrapper.

Just like a ghost, thought Rachel. A ghost that's done it's job. She knew why she was a "lucky survivor." But that doesn't mean she liked it.

**Hey guys! I hope you like this, and I'd love feedback. Criticism is welcome! I hope to continue this, and don't worry, Rachel eventually does meet all the characters of Sherlock. I apologize to those who expected her to meet them right away, but don't worry; I'm sure that at least Moriarty will show up soon!**

**-The Misty Jewel**


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3- Fire

After Rachel made sure the mysterious man was gone, she raced back to her house. The road seemed to keep going, stretching just to make her task more difficult. The pavement was hard underfoot, and she had to slow several times to catch her breath. She'd walked fairly far from her house, she discovered. That had been the man's objective the whole time.

She was panting, only half way, and knew it was a futile effort to get to her home fast. She'd be more than twenty minutes too late, even if she tried her hardest. She knew it wouldn't matter, even if she did get there in time. It would only delay the inevitable.

After a maybe ten more minutes, she'd covered the distance to her neighborhood. The glow had intensified, and now it was clear against the black sky. It was a yellow, orangey glow, and Rachel knew what it was. It was fire. Fire where her house would be if the evergreens that stood like giants weren't blocking her view.

At last, she turned the corner to her neighborhood, and the trees no longer obscured her vision. And there, in the flickering and dancing of the fire, she saw it.

Where her house, with it's sky blue walls and whitewashed windows had been, lay now a smoldering ruin. The ground was gray with charred wood, and burnt possessions. Little flames flickered among the ashes, as if playing. Heaps of ash clogged what once were rooms. The area was thick with smoke rising from the site.

Some of the neighbors had turned on their lights, and she could see them, shuffling to get on some decent clothes as quickly as possible, so they could see the wreck of her house. Rachel wanted to disappear. She didn't want them to come out, and ask her if she was alright. Of course she was. This had been the man's goal. To get rid of her future here, so she'd join his employer for a future there. Wherever "there" was, she wasn't sure, but she knew she wouldn't like it.

She walked up to the driveway, now covered with a thin layer of ash. She looked at it, at her broken home, her broken life. She knew too, that she was looking at two broken people. Because somewhere in that ruin, lay her parents.

Rachel stood there, letting it sink in. Inside her, there was a fury, at the man in black, but also at herself. She'd known it was coming. Why hadn't she at least _tried_ to stop it? It was almost as if she hadn't cared that her family would die. And behind that fury hid something else. Just emptiness. As if the will had been sucked out of her, and nothing mattered anymore. As if it didn't matter if she lived. it didn't matter if she died. It was a huge, massive plain, where nothing existed, except the hurt that she was now confronted with.

Rachel was too sad, too angry to cry. It was as if crying wouldn't, even couldn't, display what she felt. As if she would never be able to explain what she'd experienced here, at the wreckage of her own home. So she just stood there, dry-eyed, staring. She didn't know why she was surprised. It'd been coming all along.

Her next door neighbor, Mrs. Jones, came out. She was hugging a coat around herself, but then saw Rachel standing there, and completely forgot about it. She hurried over.

"Rachel! Are you alright?" She asked, clearly worried.

Rachel didn't answer, still trying to comprehend what had happened.

Mrs. Jones took Rachel by the shoulders, and shook her, awakening her from her shocked state. "Rachel," She said again, slower this time, her voice pleading. She sounded very frightened. "I said, are you alright?"

Rachel nodded numbly, feeling very empty.

Mrs. Jones took Rachel inside her house, made some hot cocoa for her, and tried in general to comfort her. Mr. Jones came down after a bit, and a while after that, their kids. They were all very kind, and kept their distance, because they knew it wouldn't help to bother her with talk or banter. Rachel sat through it, barely noticing the kindness. It wasn't that she didn't want it, or that she was rude. She just couldn't see what good it would do. She thanked Mrs. Jones and her family, then went back outside to watch the smoke rise into the sky.

The firefighters, police, and ambulance arrive only a few minutes afterward. The paramedics insisted on examining her, even though she didn't have a scratch. She was given a blanket, and was allowed to sit down on one of the stiff mobile stretchers they had prepared beforehand. Many of her neighbors came out, and tried to talk to her, but were shooed away after a bit, because, as the nurse said, she was in shock.

Rachel bent down and scooped up some ash in her hand. It was soft, still mildly warm from what had occurred. She let it spill out of her palm, and looked back up.

Rachel looked at the horizon. She didn't know what possessed her, but she stood up and searched down the road, her gaze lingering on the street corner. It was still pitch black out, and she couldn't see much, but she still saw him. The man in the black suit, standing a ways down the lane, looking at her. He raised a hand, and waved. She hugged her blanket tight, and stared straight back. Rachel and he looked at each other, straight in the eyes, without blinking.

Then Rachel looked back at the rune of her house, then twisted around to get a last glimpse of the man in the suit. He was still there, standing casually, surveying the disaster, as though observing his own handiwork with pride. She thought she saw him smile. He signalled for her to come over to the corner where he was standing.

Rachel looked around. All the police and doctors were busy with other things. Files to be made, reports to be written. She stood up, and walked away, making sure no one was following her. Once she was within hearing distance, about fifty feet away, the man motioned for her to stop.

"Remember what I told you." He said, then turned around and began to leave, but looked over his shoulder as he walked. "Oh," He paused, his phone in his back pocket lighting up and vibrating. He picked it up, read the text there, and turned to face Rachel again. "My master would like you to know how to address him. With his real name, mind you." He paused, as if thinking of how to word it. Finally, he spoke again. "Moriarty sends his regards." Then, with an almost happy stride, he walked down the street, and into the fresh night air.

**A/N- Hi guys! I'm hopefully going to skip a bit in the next chapter, and go straight to Moriarty. I hope you guys enjoy, and don't forget to comment!**

**-The Misty Jewel**


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4- Moriarty

Soon after the fire, Rachel was shipped to the orphanage. Her family had distanced themselves from her cousins and uncles, and even her grandparents, so no one wanted to take her in. So the nearest orphanage was phoned, and they prepared another bed for an unlucky child.

The paperwork was filed, and when reporters asked, the police told them the truth of what they'd found. There was obvious evidence that Rachel's family have left the stove burning accidently. The police, happy to close the case, took the evidence and placed it where "it would be in good hands." Rachel knew this meant it would never be looked at again.

She complied to what the man in the suit said. She told anyone who asked that she'd gotten up to get some water, found the house on fire, and raced out, barely escaping. She somehow forgot to mention to the police that the evidence was clearly planted, but they wouldn't have listened anyway.

At the orphanage, the other girls had at first left her alone. They knew what it was like, to be abandoned. They knew that no kind words would make up for it, and they left her to brood for the first day.

The second day, one girl timidly showed kindness. She was named Sarah, and she sat next to Rachel at lunch. Sarah sat quietly, and when Rachel looked over at her, she had those sad eyes. Sarah had the eyes of someone who'd seen horrors, those broken eyes that everyone looked away from when they turned on you.

Sarah and Rachel sat next to each other the next day too. Sarah was smaller, but around Rachel's age. She smiled. "It doesn't seem like it now, but everything will turn out okay." She said quietly.

"Does it?" Rachel asked.

Sarah nodded. "My mom died in a plane crash. My dad didn't have the money to look after me, so they brang me here." She stayed quiet for a bit. "You seem odd. The rest of us, we know that we'll be staying here for a while. But you, you look ready to leave, even now."

Rachel looked at Sarah, and took a bite out of her baloney sandwich. "Sarah, you can't tell anyone this, okay?"

Sarah nodded, unsure what to do.

Rachel looked at Sarah, serious now. "Sarah, I think my parents were murdered. I think I'm going to be adopted soon by my parent's murderer."

Sarah gaped in horror. "Who would do something like that?"

"I don't know. But you can't tell anyone, okay? That's why I don't want to get settled down too much here. Or else it might hurt to leave." Rachel stared sadly at her sandwich.

"Okay." Sarah looked down. "It's nice meeting you, though."

"Very nice." Rachel said. They just sat for the rest of lunch.

Lunch went like that for a few more days. Sarah and Rachel just sat, enjoying each other's company, but soon Rachel distanced herself. She couldn't make friends. Not if it put them in danger.

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The day after that, Rachel skipped lunch. She took her sandwich, and left the lunch room, going back to her section of the orphanage, which had a view of the front. She watched the sports car roll up the driveway, and the important man step out. They looked at each other. The man nodded slightly, then stepped into the orphanage.

And that was how she'd gotten here. That's how she'd found herself in this horrible situation.

Sarah arrived shortly after. "Is that him?" She pointed to the man, who was standing at the front desk, talking with the official in charge of the orphanage.

"Yes."

"When will you be leaving?"

"Anytime now." Rachel swallowed. "Sarah, I don't want him to see you. If he does, he may try to use you as leverage, or something."

Sarah sat in front of Rachel, obstructing her view of her worst enemy. "Rachel Burns. You are an amazing person, and I think that it is wrong to do something like this to a child." She took Rachel's hand. "You'll be okay Rachel. You will. Just remember me, and the kindness shown to you. It will keep you safe."

Rachel smiled. The man was done talking with the official and handed him the adoption papers.

"Go Sarah. He can't see you." Rachel squeezed her hand tight, knowing the other girl needed this as much as she did. "Have a wonderful life, Sarah Moneque." Rachel said, with regret that she wouldn't be part of it.

"Have a wonderful life, Rachel Burns." Sarah's voice sounded the same way. Then she walked away, casting a furtive glance behind her to make sure she hadn't been noticed.

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The man walked up to Rachel, having filled out the papers. "Ready, Rachel Burns?" His voice brought back all the things he'd done to her.

"Yes." Rachel did her best to raise her chin triumphantly. "It took you some time to get me, I notice."

"Only because I was busy. I'm sure you don't mind." The man fired back.

Rachel actually didn't mind. Her time her had been peaceful. She'd met Sarah, and that was something she couldn't ask for everyday. It had been relaxing, not having to care, and she was glad for it, because she knew it would be awhile before her life was even close to peaceful.

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Rachel was ushered into the expensive sports car, and then was driven to the airport. The next thing she knew, she was in an airport, waiting for a plane.

After a while, Rachel boarded the plane. She read where she was going, and oddly enough it was one place she'd always wanted to visit: London.

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After the long, and incredibly boring flight, Rachel was brought to an extravagant mansion, where a servant took her bags. The man in the suit guided her down the halls, and labyrinthine corridors. Rachel was quite sure she'd get lost if she was on her own.

After numerous turns, an utterly confused and discombobulated Rachel was led into a medium sized room with two chairs and a tea set laid out on a table in between them. The room had a sandy colored paint on the walls, a nice easy looking yellow, which matched with the seashell design bordering the floor and ceiling. The whole opposite wall was glass, looking out onto a courtyard brimming with roses and flowers.

One of the chairs was tilted to face the window. In that chair sat a man.

The man was smaller than the man in the suit. He had carefully combed black hair that Rachel could tell had a lot of product in it. He had that five o'clock shadow that some men got. His suit wasn't black, like that of his employee. No, his suit was a light gray. Oddly enough, it looked even more menacing that way.

Rachel's escort motioned for her to sit down, then stood at the door of the room, guarding it. _As if I'm going to run,_ Sarah thought angrily. She'd just get lost, and make even more of a fool of herself.

The man in the chair interrupted her thoughts. "Aren't you going to say hello?" He asked strangely.

"It depends upon who I'm talking to." Rachel said, barely noticing the words she was saying.

The man turned his chair to face her. His eyes had a hollow, kind of insane light in their depths, but an intelligence that Rachel knew she shouldn't anger. "I think you know who I am. After all, my faithful servant told you it himself. Isn't that right, Kenneth?"

The man in the suit bristled, not wanting to be recognized by his real name.

"Oh, come now, Kenny old boy." Moriarty grinned wickedly. "Did you want to say something? Did you want to _correct_ me? What, you're afraid to be recognized?" He said it like a threat.

"No sir." The man in the suit said fearfully.

"That's good. I could have sworn I heard you say something." Moriarty said, satisfied at his employee's response. Then Moriarty turned back to Rachel, those demonic eyes boring into her.

Rachel stared right back, firing all her anger into her gaze. "Hello, Moriarty."

"I daresay you found the right one!" Moriarty laughed oddly, making Rachel shiver with fear. She wanted to get away from this odd man, and this strange place.

"What do you mean?" She managed to ask.

Moriarty smiled garishly, showing bright white teeth that seemed to be made for biting. "What do I mean?" He pretended to think for a moment, obviously enjoying Rachel's growing concern and horror. "What do I mean?" He muttered again, hunching over and putting a fist to his chin like the pose of the statue "The Thinker." Then all of a sudden, he sat up from his thinking position, almost making Rachel flinch. "What I mean is that I need an apprentice! An heir! Someone to pass on the torch!" He yelled unexpectedly. He stood up from the chair enthusiastically, clearly excited about something.

Something good had just happened for him, Rachel realized, something according to plans.

Moriarty interrupted her thoughts again."And I think I've found just the person for it!" He turned to her, his air of insane delight subsiding, turning now into a happy, almost calming atmosphere. "Rachel Burns, congratulations. You're my new apprentice."

Rachel swallowed. She'd known this would happen. Vaguely, under her conscious mind, she'd known all along. She'd just hoped it wouldn't be true. But now, it was, and she was too late to change it.

**A/N- Hey guys, Misty here! I realize that my Moriarty character might be a bit off, so just comment and tell me if I'm writing him wrong. I thank those who have followed or favorited this story. Please comment! Criticism helps me as an author, and I can't wait to hear what people think. Thanks again!**

**-The Misty Jewel**


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5- Moriarty's Chat

Moriarty continued to stalk around the room, circling the table and chairs like a shark. "I've been searching, you know. There were others, they just never made the cut." He grinned. "You'll have to figure out what that means for yourself."

Rachel inwardly cringed. _This man had killed other people who he didn't think were worthy?_

He went on. "I have a feeling you'll do well, Rachel Burns. At least, you should, if you listen to me." He stopped circling and stood behind Rachel's chair, leaning against it.

Rachel hardly dared to move. Moriarty seemed both dangerous, and conflicted. She realized he wouldn't hesitate to kill her if she showed signs of weakness. So she sat straight in her chair, and set her face like stone to an unreadable gaze at the wall.

"Kenny, why don't you guard the door in the _hallway_?" Moriarty's meaning was clear, and the man in the suit left the room, standing by the door. Moriarty sighed, and closed the door softly. Then, he sat down again, opposite Rachel, and gestured to the tea tray. "Do you want any tea?"

Rachel shook her head. She'd never been one for tea, and this man had certainly taken away her appetite.

Moriarty shrugged, and poured himself a small amount. His eyes fixed on Rachel again. "Well?"

"Well what?" Rachel didn't know what to say.

"I did a lot to bring you here. No thanks?" He grinned that unnerving grin, the one that made Rachel think he was about to bite her. "No congratulations at all? Nothing?"

"I'm sorry," Rachel said angrily, "I didn't realize I was supposed to be happy that you killed my parents!"

Moriarty smiled again. "Well, you're welcome anyway. I have to say though, you played along quite brilliantly. How did you know an accident would happen? Kenny told me it like you'd foretold the future!"

"This is just like a fantasy I've always had." Rachel shared, finally letting it out. "I knew it would happen, from the moment it started, but I knew there wasn't any backing out."

"True." Moriarty eyed her, sipping his tea silently. "And I suppose you also know that if you back out here, I'll have to kill you like the others."

Rachel shuddered at the thought. "Yes." She managed to say calmly, without betraying the growing hatred for this man in her voice.

"My way of teaching is a bit _odd_." Moriarty fluidly picked up two sugar cubes and dropped them in his tea. "What I do is I give you mind games. You have to solve them to get the next one, and the next one, and if I think you're smart enough at that, I'll let you live, and we'll continue to actual teaching."

Rachel didn't know what to say. She'd never been good riddles, or games. She hoped they'd be easy at the start. She doubted it though.

Her silence reached Moriarty, and he responded almost like she'd said something. "Well come on, now. Tell me, I can take it." Moriarty said playfully. "Everyone I meet says the same things about me. 'Oh I hate you!' He mimicked in a higher voice, 'You're the worst person on Earth!' Why should you be any different?" He said, suddenly serious. "Get it out."

Rachel knew what he meant. She also knew it would be hard to balance what she was thinking with what he wanted to hear. She was on thin ice. "I think you're the vilest, cruelest man I've ever heard of." She said angrily, it spilling out of her all of a sudden. "I think you're insane, and you should have died in that fire in the place of my parents."

"That was mild." Moriarty said. He sipped his tea again like nothing had happened. "Now, anyway, let's discuss your apprenticeship. And remember," He said slowly, as if speaking to a toddler, "I'm not giving you much choice in this, and I'd prefer not to kill you. You show much more promise than the others."

"Why?" Rachel couldn't help it. She wanted to know.

"Finally asking the right questions." Moriarty wistfully sat back in his chair. "Here's what I've gathered so far. Some people, like me, and a certain detective and his brother," He said this like it was a funny joke, "have access to their subconscious thoughts. This greatly enlarges their thinking capacity. These people usually get this ability before they know it, like you knowing what would happen, but not knowing _why_ you knew it. So anyway, as long as they get some fine tuning, they can consciously use this ability like I do, and others do as well." He paused, surveying Rachel cautiously. "Are you with me?"

"Of course." Rachel thought this was a fairly easy topic to understand.

"Okay. Anyway, that's why I killed your parents, and brought you here. You show the signs of someone with this speciality." He smiled, "How you use it is another matter entirely, and one that I will make sure I cover several times."

He paused for a second, the space of silence growing larger as he sat back in his chair and sighed.

Moriarty looked out the window again, a distant expression crossing his face. "It's so boring." He gestured at the garden. "It's so peaceful, but it's just so, so boring. I've had distractions, mind you, but I've always just been so _bored_." He sat there for a moment. "And you know, I've just gotten another distraction." He looked over at Rachel. "Don't disappoint, Rachel. Don't disappoint."

Moriarty sprang up from his seat again. He walked over to the door, and opened it. "Kenny!" He barked the nickname like an order.

"Yes?" Kenny still looked peeved about his real name being revealed.

"Bring Rachel to her room, and make sure to lock the door. Otherwise she'll just get ideas, like the others."

"Right away, sir." Kenny said hurriedly.

"Oh yes, and make sure she knows that our security simply doesn't let people in or out of this area without my consent. No specifics, obviously." Moriarty called over his shoulder as he paraded down the hall.

Obviously Rachel was promising to him, though she had no clear idea why. She finally relaxed, shuddering from the experience. _No wonder he wants me reminded of the security. Otherwise I'd try to leave in a heartbeat._ Rachel could have sat there all day, soaking up the relief of not being in Moriarty's presence anymore, but it was simply not to be.

"Come on." The man in the suit, who now looked like a puppy compared to Moriarty, said. "We don't want to linger."

Rachel had no doubt. She silently stood, and followed him down the labyrinth again. After several dozen confusing turns, she was led to a large room with a queen bed. Everything in the room matched perfectly, a calm light green, but it didn't disguise the room's real meaning. It was a cell. A prison cell to hold her until she was wanted again. Rachel went inside, knowing full well she might not be let out.

"You heard what he said." Ken told her roughly. "Security catches every fly that comes in or out of here. Don't make a fool of yourself by trying to run."

"I have no doubt it would be a very bad idea." Rachel said numbly. She heard the door close as the man left the room, then the lock clicking as he locked the door. _No way out anyway._

Rachel sat on her new bed, in her new room, thinking about her new life. She wished she was back at the orphanage. She wished she was with Sarah, and her mom, and her dad. She wished this had never happened.

Rachel sat there until someone banged on the door, then opened it with some rattling keys. Another servant came in. She was taller than Sarah, but shorter than most adults. She was holding a plate of food. "Here you are, miss. Fresh out of the oven." She handed Rachel the plate, which had some seasoned chicken and salad on it.

Rachel nodded sadly, taking the plate slowly. "Thanks." She looked down at the food, clearly not hungry.

The maid paused on her way out. "You just have to adapt, dear. Don't worry, you'll get used to it." The maid said kindly, seeing how obviously depressed Rachel was.

Rachel doubted, but she nodded to make the maid go away, and sat back on her bed, picking at the food with her fork, and wishing nothing had ever happened.


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6- Deduction

After she'd finished picking at her food, Rachel looked around her room for the first real time. It had the same colored walls, and theme as the room where she'd met Moriarty. She wished it didn't. It reminded her of him, and it made it seem like she was being watched. She probably was, she realized. Still, she wished the room was different.

She had a study room, complete with a desk, office chair, and bookshelf. The desk was completely empty, and the bookshelf was too. She sat in the office chair for a moment, swiveling it left and right, and rolling around the room. After a while Rachel grew tired of that, and investigated the rest of her new accommodations.

There wasn't much else to her room except a bathroom. The bathroom had a shower, and a sink with a cabinet nearby. A small mirror was on the main wall.

Rachel sighed. She was already bored. She walked around, but got tired of that. Then she sat down and hummed some of her favorite songs. Then she got back up and walked around in useless circles. She sat in the office chair and turned it so she spun around fast. After a bit she decided to stop, and stumbled back to her bedroom completely dizzy. _So much for exciting._ She felt like an animal in a zoo. Nothing to do, and no way to escape. So she just sat there, on her bed, like all the zoo animal's she'd ever seen always did.

Rachel looked at the alarm clock on her bedside table. It read 9:04 PM. She sighed again, and tried to find something to entertain herself with.

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Rachel woke up. She must have drifted off. She looked up at the clock again. This time it read 6:46 AM. _As good a time as any to get up,_ she thought. She rubbed her eyes, and went to sit in the office chair again.

After a bit, a bang came from the door, followed by the familiar jangle of keys. In came the same maid as yesterday. "How we settling in?" She asked, wanting to be helpful.

"Okay." Rachel said, not wanting to begin a conversation. She didn't know why. After all, wasn't she bored anyway? But she kept quiet, as the maid walked over.

"Here you are." The maid handed her a plate of scrambled eggs. "Don't want to start today on an empty stomach."

"Thanks." Rachel said, happy to have something to eat.

The maid hurried away, clearly very busy. Rachel picked at her eggs in silence watching her leave. "Oh wait! Silly me, I forget so easily." The maid turned around back to Rachel. "Here, this is for you." She handed Rachel a small card, almost like a notecard.

"What is it?" Rachel took the card, studying it closely.

"Haven't a clue, dear. It's rude to read the mail." The maid strode out the door. "Have a good day, darling."

Rachel smiled. She liked the maid. She seemed nice, in a way that people couldn't replicate just because they wanted someone to like them. She seemed nice as though she just wanted to help people.

Rachel's smile faded when she saw the note. It was quite detailed, and the penmanship was supreme. It would have been a fun thing to look at if she hadn't known who it was from. It read-

_-To Rachel Burns_

_Lunch is at 1:00 PM._

_Don't disappoint._

_-JM_

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Time came and went, and Rachel found herself doing incredibly odd things to keep entertained. She spent about half an hour making fog drawings on the mirror. Most were smiley faces, though she didn't feel like smiling. Rachel spun herself in the office chair until she felt like the sky was falling. She walked aimlessly about until her feet hurt.

Rachel couldn't remember the last time she'd felt so bored. In fact, she couldn't remember being even half as bored as she was now. _I guess being in the same rooms for a day straight will do this to you,_ she thought.

Finally, the clock read 12:30. She was so close. SOmeone knocked on her door, and the maid strode in again.

"Here we are." The maid said cheerily. "Fresh clothes." When Rachel looked quizzical, since she'd already gotten fresh clothes on, the maid explained. "Sorry dear, I know it's a hassle. You see, lunch has a dress code, and you have to wear a skirt at least."

Rachel sighed, not wanting to put on some dressy skirt and fancy top. The maid smiled apologetically.

"Well, anyway. I'll come back at 5 minutes to 1:00." The maid went for the door.

"Thank you." Rachel said. "By the way, what should I address you as? I can't very well get acquainted with someone who's name I don't know."

The maid smiled slightly. "Alice, how about? Yes, Alice sounds good." She walked to the door. "Be back soon, dear."

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Indeed, Alice came back soon. Rachel had barely gotten the long brown skirt and white top on when Alice knocked, then skittered in in her usual fashion. "Time to go, dear. You ready?"

"Yes."

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Rachel was led down the insane maze of hallways again, and brought to the courtyard she'd seen through the window yesterday. The courtyard had several tables, some occupied, others empty.

Moriarty sat at one, looking much the same as yesterday. He looked up. "Glad you could make it."

Rachel sat down. "It's incredibly boring up there, you know. Isn't there anything to do?"

"Yes." Moriarty said distantly. He gave her that curious stare that Rachel just couldn't figure out. "What can you tell about me?"

"What do you mean?" Rachel asked, clearly confused.

"How many facts can you note about me by what you see? List them. And tell me how you know them."

Rachel had really, no idea. She looked at Moriarty and just saw what she saw, a menacing, dangerous psychopath.

"Um..." Rachel didn't know what to do.

She looked at Moriarty again, really looked, hard enough so the back of her eyes hurt, and then something seemed to click. "You've recently been upset. Upset enough to yell at your employee." She didn't know where it was coming from. "I can tell because I passed some servant leaving, and he looked rather told off, and you were looking towards where he went when I came in." Rachel pointed to a doorway to their right. She turned to him again, staring, analyzing. "The scuff marks on your shoes. Obvious, and very notable, so you must have been in a hurry this morning, and you didn't have time to get them shined. They've been bothering you all day, poor thing. And I can only imagine that they're scuffed on the back of the heel like that because someone stepped on the back of your shoe. I always hate that. So this says you were somewhere public and crowded today, since no one here would ever get in their master's space. A train, was it? I noticed the ticket littered on the ground near here. I detest litter." Rachel clamped her mouth shut. She didn't know where that had come from! It had just blurted out, and she hadn't even meant to say it.

Moriarty smiled that smile again. "Rachel, you will do brilliantly. For your information, yes I was in a rush today, and yes, I was somewhere public, however," he paused, as if soaking in how she'd gotten something wrong, "The train ticket was a decoy, to see if you took note of it. I'm glad you did, the others didn't. So actually, you did get that right, in a sense. And yes, the waiter forgets everything, and brought me the wrong dish, so I yelled at him."

"How did I know that?" Rachel asked, numb from what she'd just been able to do.

"I already told you. Your subconscious is coming out. What are you, nine years old? Usually it happens about then. Maybe a touch earlier, but still. It only starts when you actually pay attention to what you're thinking, so that has something to do with the matter too." Moriarty said, obviously bored at having to explain to her again.

The waiter Rachel had mentioned came up, a tea tray in hand. He placed it gently, and said to Moriarty "Apologies, sir, for the mistake made earlier." He said it like he didn't mean it, which was probably true.

"Yes." Moriarty said vaguely. The waiter scurried off, glad to be away from his ill tempered boss.

Moriarty stirred again, as if waking from a trance. "Now," he said happily, "I'll show you how a master does it." Rachel gulped.

Moriarty began. "You had a bad time getting to sleep last night, and kept wandering around, eventually drifting off to an uncomfortable sleep which is why your hair is a bit messy. You've been bored most of the day, because you looked very excited when you arrived. That shows you didn't have anything to do, therefore this is the biggest thing to look forward to in your day. You made a friend at the orphanage you were at, evident by the fact that you keep tracing your wrist where you held hands before you left to come here. You've also recently made friends with the maid that comes by every meal. I see that from how you looked to her for guidance before she left the area. You've always been slightly more fond of trains than cars, partly because you jumped to the conclusion from the ticket, partly because you say you detest litter, and trains are, in most people's view at least, cleaner travel. You follow strictly to the base morals set by others, mostly because your parents set a lot of them, slightly because of the before mentioned detesting of litter, showing you stick to the moral of keeping Earth clean. You think public places will protect you more, because you're at ease in this place, unlike when we first met in the privacy of that other room. You think of your parents every day, obvious from the fact that you present yourself neatly, as a mother would. Whether you do this consciously is hard to tell. But you really don't care about presentation, and prefer functionality to beauty, evident from how stiff you are in that skirt." Moriarty trailed off. It was obvious he had a million other notes, but had decided not to share them.

Rachel sat back surprised. Half of that she hadn't even known herself.

"Go on, say it." Moriarty said happily, obviously knowing what to expect from his little game.

Rachel said it. "That was amazing! How did you know all that?"

Moriarty smiled that smile that made Sarah think of biting. "Of course it was amazing. And I told you how I knew it, didn't I? It's called deduction." He leaned forward. "Now, here's your exercise for today. See everyone here?" he gestured to all the people around them having lunch. "I'm going to ask you to describe them, one by one, using deduction. And after you do, I'll tell you what you got right, and what you missed."

"Okay." Sarah said. The game actually sounded fun, though she tried not to show it.

Moriarty grinned. "Enjoying yourself already?"

"Starting to." Rachel deemed it best to agree with him.

Moriarty pointed. "See that man at the corner? The one with the black suit and blonde hair drinking some water?" Rachel nodded. "Describe him." Moriarty said, leaning back.

And so, they began.

**Hi again! I realize my Moriarty character is probably off, so PLEASE give me tips on how to make him more realistic. I hope to skip most of Moriarty's lessons, and instead go to the main events a few years later in my story. I will ask you to comment once again, and I'll tell you that I was hitting some serious writer's block in this chapter. I hope it turned out okay though! As always, I will beg you to comment, since criticism is important to making my writing better. Thanks again for reading!**

**-Misty**


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N Hey guys! Sorry about the sketchy ending of my 6th chapter. To those who noticed: No, Rachel and Moriarty weren't talking to another character named Sarah, and no, Rachel isn't developing multiple personality disorders. I accidently traded the names out a few times. If you go back, you'll notice Rachel turns into Sarah and back again near the end of the chapter. Again, sorry, I was tired and in a hurry to get done. :P**

Chapter 7- Paper and Pen

The days went by like that. Rachel found herself with lots to do. She tried her new skill of deduction on anyone and everyone she met. Unfortunately that included Alice, who didn't appreciate it. Rachel quickly vowed not to read her again.

Soon Rachel was having morning lessons as well as lessons at noon. Moriarty was fast paced, and she struggled to keep up. She knew she had to though. Weakness could prove fatal.

One day, perhaps a week after her first lesson, Rachel looked up from the woman she was trying to read. "She has two sons who are twins, but would have prefered only having one child, because they're always a handful. Her husband owns a hunting dog, whom she had a row with today because it shed all over her work clothes. She's debating whether to convince him to get rid of it or not, but she's thinking now that she should just keep it. She's the top scientist in an organization, and although the organization is small, she still prides herself with the rank." Rachel stopped suddenly, showing she still had more to say but had interrupted herself.

"What?" Moriarty said, clearly bored. "Continue, Rachel. I'm not sitting here all day for you to be quiet."

"Moriarty, could I have some sort of entertainment? The time between classes is so _boring_." Rachel said suddenly, not quite sure why she'd decided she wanted entertainment. She'd gotten along fine without it.

"If it'll get you to start again, then fine." Moriarty motioned for her to continue.

Rachel didn't exactly know what Moriarty was thinking. He was obviously expecting this, and he'd said he'd get her something, but what? How could she know it would be entertaining? Rachel stopped herself from wondering. Better to do as Moriarty asked than to get on his bad side. She still hadn't seen his bad side, she realized. She was lucky Moriarty had saved her from that experience so far. So Rachel began listing off again, revealing how the woman she was reading had had a bad day so far, evident from her ordering a chocolate sundae at lunch for comfort food.

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Classes came and went that day, and Rachel sat waiting for the maid Alice to show up with dinner. And maybe entertainment.

A quick rap on the door ensured that Rachel didn't have long to wait. Alice came in, the normal plate in hand. "Here you are." Alice smiled. "Oh, and the boss told me to bring you this." She handed Rachel a heavy package, and a pen.

Rachel stared at the package. Moriarty couldn't be serious, could he? The package read "Clean-Cut Bleached Paper" And it was so heavy because stacks and stacks of white paper were piled on top of each other. Rachel frowned. This was an odd development, and not what she was expecting. She took the pen, thanked Alice, and brang the paper to her desk. At least there was something to do now, she supposed.

"Have a good day." Alice waved goodbye, and left the room.

"You too." Rachel managed to say before the door shut and the key jangling showed that the it was now being locked.

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Hours later, Rachel was still at her desk. She had found that paper was actually quite entertaining. She'd written a diary entry of her day on one, then tried drawing on another. She was terrible at drawing, but she had lots of time, and practice made perfect, after all.

Rachel looked at the drawing she was trying to make right now. It was a self-portrait. She'd taken the mirror from the bathroom, and propped it against the wall and looked at herself in it. However, the portrait her looked much more like Frankenstein than a 9 year old girl. _So much for drawing,_ she thought to herself.

Rachel sighed. She'd tried everything with the paper. She'd written a short story on it, tried drawing objects in her room, tried drawing animals, (which had been disastrous,) and even tried folding it to make a paper airplane. The airplane had crashed and burned, the nose all bent out of shape.

Rachel looked at the pile of paper. It was barely scratched. There were still hundreds upon hundreds of sheets to be used. She took another, and was about to start drawing, but when she began, she realized her pen was out of ink.

With that, Rachel looked at the clock. It read 10:34. She sighed, knowing Alice would be angry if she stayed up too long. She resigned herself to bed, and told herself she'd get another pen for tomorrow.

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Life went like this for a long time. Before Rachel knew it, she'd spent two and a half years, maybe more, at the mansion. Every day was the same, and she was always learning something different. She found herself busy all the time. She was now twelve years old, after having her last birthday on October 5th.

Her schedule was always the same. She'd wake up, go to her morning class. Moriarty always had some random topic to teach and discus, most of the time she grasped the concept easily, sometimes not so. Then, near the end, he'd ask her to describe people, to keep her practiced, and she would. She'd ask for another pen sometimes, since they always ran out of ink, and sometimes she needed another package of paper. Then she'd go back to her room, and wait for the next lesson. At some point, almost every day, Alice would come by, and let her play in an empty courtyard. That was her favorite time of day. She'd draw a tree, or watch a bird, or try to scale the wall, as if she could escape. Her drawing had greatly improved from the time between classes, and spent in the courtyard. It went like that, not stopping for weekends or holidays, until one particular lesson.

Rachel was seated opposite Moriarty in a different courtyard than last time. He was talking about how to read footsteps, and she listened closely, intent on being a good student.

Suddenly he stopped. "I think," He said slowly, "I think it's time for field trips."

"What do you mean?" Rachel asked suspiciously. She was never sure what he meant.

"I think the only way you're going to learn anything else is to come with me to my work and meetings and such, is what I mean." Moriarty said rapidly. "I can't teach you everything. You can just sit quietly, and take note of things I do. How I work, etc, etc."

Rachel, to be honest with herself, didn't want to go on "Field trips." She had the feeling that what Moriarty did for a living was so morally unsound it would make her sick. She tried to resist frowning, but knew he would take note of something else that betrayed what she was thinking. "I don't think I'm ready." She said, trying to find a way out.

"You obviously don't want to, and feel that my work must be horrible and immoral." Moriarty said, but then smiled that smile again. "Well Rachel, glad to see you know what to expect." He paused. "Next class we'll do a 'field trip' then. If you find it that bad, maybe I'll try something different." Moriarty said tiredly, then stood, and began walking away, motioning for a servant to escort Rachel back to her room.

Rachel swallowed. She really didn't want to go on any "Field trip." In fact, she was so upset, she'd forgotten to ask for yet another new pen.


	8. Chapter 8

**Hi guys, Misty here. I'd just like to tell you that this chapter intertwines with Sherlock more so than most, and I prematurely apologize for any information I get wrong. It will be basically correct, though the wording might be a bit funny. :P**

Chapter 8- The Pool

Rachel was awoken by a knock on her door. _Who could be here?_ She asked herself. _It's 11:15 PM!_

The door opened to reveal Alice, looking rather sleepy, and muttering to herself about getting a pay raise.

"What is it?" Rachel dared to ask.

"Apparently the boss wants you to go on a field trip." Alice said tiredly. "And he took the liberty of awakening me even though there are other maids on night duty. Now hurry up, get dressed. We all know how he hates waiting."

Rachel gulped, but did as she was told. Fairly soon, she ushered into a taxi being driven by the man in the suit, whom she now felt completely comfortable to call Kenny. "Kenny, where are we going?"

"I'm only allowed to tell you that it's a field trip." Kenny sounded very tired. "Of course, you already know that somehow, don't you?" Rachel nodded.

The door on the other side of the taxi opened, and Moriarty sat down, making Kenny stiffen and Rachel flinch. "Where are we going?" Rachel asked him.

"That would ruin the surprise!" Moriarty clapped his hands manically. He paused. "Fine," He said suddenly, "I'll tell you. We're going to the pool."

_What pool stays open this late?_ Rachel stopped herself from asking questions. Moriarty always hated when she asked too many.

The car ride was brief. Silence stifled the entire ride, and Rachel felt like she was breathing after being underwater too long when the taxi pulled to a stop. Kenny led her up some stairs, and she found herself sitting at the edge of a balcony looking over a pool. There were lots of gunmen up there too, holding rifles. _What was this? What was she doing here?_

She looked at her watch. 12:00 PM exactly.

A man strode into the pool area. Although Rachel didn't know who it was, she knew it wasn't Moriarty. The man was tall, incredibly pale, with a gaunt, intelligent face framed by black curly locks. His long black coat brushed against the floor as he fluidly entered the room. The collar was turned up, though she didn't know why. Everything about him emanated some kind of intelligence, the same kind of air that Moriarty had. Rachel shivered. It was as if, under the skin, they were almost identical.

The man spoke. "Brought you a little getting to know you present. That's what it's all been for, wasn't it. All your little puzzles, making me dance. All to distract me from this." He held up something in the dim light. It was hard to see, and Rachel couldn't make out what it was.

A door creaked, signifying someone else entering. Rachel expected it to be Moriarty, but what she saw surprised her even more. Another stranger, obviously a friend of the first one, stepped in, walking rigidly and wearing a parka. He had brown-blonde hair, and was a head shorter than the other person. He was said something, but Rachel couldn't make out what. The talking was too quiet for her half awake ears to pick up. Then he drew back the parka to reveal a bomb strapped to his chest. Rachel's breath caught in her throat. One of the snipers around her took aim.

She only caught a few words from the hushed conversation. The taller man called the one in the parka John. _So his name's John. That, at least, is something._ After a while of the talking she couldn't hear, the taller man spoke out louder, loud enough for her to pick up. "Who are you?" He said, his voice echoing around the pool.

That was when Moriarty came in. He looked exactly the same as when Rachel had first met him, except he was in a black suit. "Gave you my number." He said oddly. "I thought you might call." The man in the black coat pulled a gun.

Moriarty continued, but Rachel didn't understand most of it. He introduced himself, and said he'd given Sherlock but a glimpse of what he could do. _The tall one's name must be Sherlock, _Rachel thought. During his little speech, Moriarty glanced up at the balcony to make sure Rachel was there. His eyes bored into her for a second, but then he refocused on Sherlock.

Sherlock began speaking, some sort of mix of admiration and realization in his voice. "Dear Jim, please will you fix it for me?" He continued, obviously reciting from a letter someone had sent to Moriarty. Rachel still didn't comprehend what was going on.

Rachel still didn't understand, but apparently Moriarty did. "Just so." He said after Sherlock was done.

"Consulting criminal...brilliant." Sherlock said, quieter this time.

"Isn't it. No one ever gets to me, and no one ever will." Moriarty smiled the same smile he often used. The one that made Rachel think he would bite her.

"I did." The voices rang across the pool now, Rachel's ears now accustomed to the hushed conversation.

They kept talking for a bit, the man in the parka, John, stood forgotten. It was as if both, not only Moriarty, enjoyed this game.

After a while more, Sherlock spoke up again. "Take it." He handed Moriarty the thing he'd held up earlier.

"Oh! The missile plans." Moriarty took it reverently. "Boring!" He threw it away. "I could of got them anywhere."

_Missile plans?_ Rachel scarcely breathed now.

All of a sudden, John grabbed Moriarty. "That sniper pulls that trigger, Mr. Moriarty. Then we both go up."

They struggled for a bit, until another sniper's light danced upon Sherlock's forehead. Moriarty brushed himself off and continued.

Another speech ensued, and at the end Moriarty said he'd better be off.

"What if I was to shoot you now, right now?" Sherlock suddenly blurted.

"Then you could cherish the look of surprise on my face," Here Moriarty made an odd face, that Rachel supposed was surprise. "Because I'd be surprised Sherlock, really I would. And just a teensy bit _disappointed._ And of course you wouldn't be able to cherish it for very long. Chow, Sherlock Holmes."

Moriarty left, Sherlock still having his gun trained on him. "Catch you later." Sherlock tried his best to get the last word.

"No you won't!" Moriarty sang happily, then left.

After he was gone, Sherlock tore the bomb off of John. He flung it far away, toward the end of the pool. For a moment, both men left near the pool relaxed. John sat down against the wall, Sherlock began pacing. Rachel couldn't hear what they said, because the voices in her head were too loud. _Run! Don't you know, you're still in danger!_ But they didn't run, and that was their mistake.

All of a sudden all the snipers trained on the two. The sniper lights danced over their clothes and faces, their deaths foretold.

Moriarty walked back in through a different set of doors. "Sorry boys! I'm soooo changeable! It is a weakness with me, but to be fair with myself, it is my only weakness. You can't be allowed to continue." He paused, soaking in how he'd won. "You just can't. I would try to convince you, but everything I have to say has already crossed your minds!"

"Probably my answers crossed yours." Sherlock said rigidly. And with the same coolness as when he had arrived, he turned around, and aimed the gun at Moriarty. But then he lowered it, to the bomb still blinking, still active on the floor.

A pause overwhelmed everything. The silence was deafening, and the world seemed to be waiting to continue, having stopped because of the three men standing at the pool's side.

Then, the music began. "Staying Alive" echoed around the building. Moriarty sighed. "Do you mind if I get that?"

"Oh please, you've got the rest of your life." Sherlock said bitterly.

Moriarty answered, obviously peeved. Rachel couldn't hear what he said. She was still in her mind, silently screaming at the two to run, run while they still had even the slightest chance.

Moriarty looked up from his call. "Sorry. Wrong day to die."

"Oh. Did you get a better offer?"

Moriarty paused, but then said, "You'll be hearing from me Sherlock." Then he turned back to the person who'd called him, back to the conversation Rachel couldn't care less about. As he went out the door, he snapped his fingers, and the snipers stopped aiming, and packed up and left.

"What happened there?" John asked.

"Someone changed his mind." Sherlock said. "The question is, who?"

Rachel only vaguely heard this. Her heart was pounding, and her mind was a thousand miles away. Back at her old home, when her parents were killed in the fire. She felt horrible. She hadn't even done anything to save them. It had only been Moriarty's mercy that had stopped them from becoming two cold bodies on the floor.

Rachel sat like that for a moment, but was awoken by another sound. Moriarty's footsteps coming up the stairs.

**A/N- Sorry for the long chapter. I realize my conversation here might be a bit bad, but I hope it was okay. I tried to skip some of Moriarty's longer speeches, since I didn't want this to go on too long.**

**-The Misty Jewel**


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N- I hope the last chapter wasn't too hurried. I look back on it, and feel I could have done better. But then again, isn't that how I always feel about my work?**

**-Misty**

Chapter 9- Runaway

Rachel had had it. Moriarty had crossed every line she'd known of, but this was something so horrible it was a new type of crime. He had played with their lives, and only on his whim had the two men, Sherlock and John, survived. She didn't even care who those two were. It didn't matter.

Moriarty came up the stairs, followed by Kenny, who he'd decided to bring up from the taxi. Kenny stood stiffly, as always, at the door.

"You're insane." Rachel said, a terrible calm filling up her chest. "I wish I was still at the orphanage. At least they protect against people like you. Who's Sherlock Holmes? Why is he important? Why'd you almost kill him? Who was that who called you?" She blurted out the questions before she could stop.

"Glad to see you liked it." Moriarty grinned wickedly, pacing about. "Sherlock Holmes is a detective that's been snooping too much. This was just a friendly warning. And I'm not going to be telling you my client's name quite yet." He paused, then started back up again. "Now, what did you learn?"

"I learned to get the high ground when you're expecting someone to try to kill you." Rachel said bitterly, knowing that yelling wouldn't do any good.

"What else?" Moriarty asked boredly.

_How could he be bored? He just almost murdered two people!_ Rachel's mind was screaming.

"Come on!" Moriarty said. "What else?"

"Secure the building before you enter it?" Rachel couldn't think right now. She just needed quiet.

But Moriarty pressed on. "Did you pay no attention?"

Rachel sighed. She'd get him back for this. But right now, she needed to figure out what

he wanted. "I don't know, how about that my father figure is a complete psycho!"

Moriarty sighed, crossing one arm across his chest and propping the other one on it so he could lean his head on his fist. "You learned," He said, patience clearly wearing thin, "not to trust that something is over. Ever."

Rachel guessed that made sense, in a morbid way. How Moriarty had made it seem like he was done trying to kill them, then came back after a few minutes. "Then how many things are you expecting to re-start then? A hundred? Maybe a thousand?"

Moriarty smiled. "Yes, well. Closer to five thousand." he looked to Kenny. "Back to the car, Kenny."

Kenny nodded, and went down the stairs, followed by Rachel, then Moriarty.

Once they were outside, Kenny took the driver's seat again. Moriarty stood next to the door on the far side, waiting for her. Both looked to Rachel to get in, and get going.

This was Rachel's chance. She debated it for a second, then came to a conclusion.

"Rachel, don't even think about it." Moriarty said, clearly angry at the delay. "There must be half a dozen trackers on you, and I have the vicinity surrounded."

Rachel smiled at Moriarty. After so long, she'd gotten used to doing as he said. But now, she didn't care. A little bit of hope fluttered inside her. "I don't care," She said, picking her words carefully. "For the last two and a half years, I've been _so bored._ This is a chance to get some excitement." And with that, she stopped talking. She stopped thinking, and she just ran.

Moriarty watched her go, not making a move to stop her. He climbed into the car, and Kenny, without a word, was off, back to the mansion. Somehow this scared Rachel more than any threat Moriarty could have made.

Rachel stopped running after maybe three or four minutes. She looked around. First, she supposed, to get rid of the trackers. She checked all her pockets, and found two. But surely there was another, placed with more guile than just a pocket. She checked herself again, and then sighed in realization. The brooch in her hair! Of course! She took it off, letting her hair fall into her face. She brushed it aside, tucking it behind her ears.

Second, she thought, was to figure out the best way of escape. Not the road, Rachel realized. It would leave her vulnerable, and easy to spot. No, she needed a different route. She looked about. Not the alleys, not the sidewalk. There weren't any taxis, so she couldn't get driven out.

Then she spotted something. The fire escape on a building was perfect. The houses here were close together, so she could jump the gaps easily. No doubt Moriarty had thought of that as well, but it was the best she had.

She went up to the building, and stood as tall as she could on her tip toes. Even then, her fingers only barely managed to grab hold of the fire escape. She pulled it down, sending a slight squeak to her ears. She cursed under her breath.

She climbed the ladder silently. Then let it come back up slowly, to avoid any more squeaks. Then Rachel began climbing the stairs, flight after flight after flight. _What was she doing? She was even more crazy than Moriarty!_

Finally she reached the top, and stood breathing hard on the top of the roof. She walked along, not caring if she should be running.

She looked down at the streets below. It had been so long since she'd been in public places everyday. She really missed it, the feel of business, of having other people around her. She made it her goal to be able to be able to appreciate it everyday from now on. He goal to be free to walk around London without supervision, without being on an electronic leash, without being labeled as Moriarty's daughter.

Rachel looked at the sky next. Not much to see, since it was cloudy. She sighed. She probably wouldn't last the hour. She probably still had a tracker on her somewhere.

Rachel began a faster walk, having seen the things around her. She took a longer stride to get over the gap between apartments, then continued. After a while. she stopped, and turned. She didn't know why, she just felt like it was a smart thing to do. Rachel turned around, and stopped herself from gasping.

For there, in the dim light, stood a figure. The figure of a man. Something glinted in his shadow, and Rachel was horrified. Because it was a man, all right. A man who was holding a knife.

**A/N- I hope the next chapter will be good! I'll be honest, I'm not good at action-y scenes. But I hope to get better, and this is good practice. Once again, I will ask you to please comment! Criticism is wanted!**

**-Misty**


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N- I hope this chapter's action isn't a complete failure. I will ask you once again to comment! Critics are needed, even if I don't like what they have to say! I also realize this chapter has some currency problems. Because I'm in the USA, I use dollars, and I know a lot of other people use euros and such. So I'll try to keep it vague on that, for everyone's sake. (Including mine.) :P Hope it's not too much trouble!**

**-Misty**

Chapter 10- Knife

Rachel felt like screaming. Her life stunk. First her parents died in a fire that destroyed her home, then she got adopted by a psychopath. Then she watched as two people were nearly killed, and now, now she had to deal with this. A knife wielding maniac following her in the middle of the night on the rooftops of London.

She hoped something would get better soon.

As she registered the figure, her brain rocketed off without her. It did that a lot now, and she hardly thought about what would have taken others a number of hours to figure out. _Male. American. Obviously skilled. Very fast, very strong. Chances in physical combat without knife: Next to zero. Chances with knife: Zero. Chances of outrunning him: Also next to zero. _Rachel wasn't liking these odds. _Dropped out of high school the moment he could. Thinking is fairly minimal, relies on instinct. In the later twenties, possibly early thirties. Hired by Moriarty without actual contact. Kenny probably met him for Moriarty. Chances of outsmarting or losing him: Roughly 50% in good scenario. Chances of scenario coming up: Maybe 20%. Heavy smoker. Upper body strength less so than lower. Conclusion: Down the fire escape, lose him in the streets and alleys. Double back a number of times until thoroughly confused. Make a break for it to the nearest public area still open, lose him in crowd. Chances of success: Less than 10% if lucky. More likely less than 2%._

Rachel swallowed. This was not good. The statistics of her getting out of this was less than one out of fifty. Still, she'd made her choice. She had to try.

She bolted. Down the fire escape like she'd planned. The figure, like lightning, was after her, already gaining. She swallowed. This would not turn out well.

She jumped the last few steps, swung on the ladder, and was on the ground quickly. The figure was almost right behind her. She dashed to an alley, which quickly separated into two more. She chose the left one randomly, and before the figure had seen her, she went down that one. She took turn after turn, doubling back again and again. The man kept persisting, taking a lucky guess, or seeing the tip of her foot disappear around a corner. She knew she couldn't keep running forever. She just hoped to lose him at some point.

Rachel rounded another corner. She saw a nook nearby. She strode over quickly, and pressed herself against the wall. The sound of the pursuer came came echoing up the dingy alleyway. She held her breath. The man stopped at the split, and swore profoundly. He'd let the trail go cold. On a whim, he took the left, which happened to be where Rachel had gone.

She held her breath, not daring to move.

A grating sound came to her ears. It slowly grew louder, echoing eerily around the area. Rachel slid down to the dirty, wet floor. She made herself as small as possible, protected by nothing, but hidden in shadow. The grating became louder still, until Rachel realized what it was. _He's dragging his knife along the wall._ She stopped herself from shivering st the sound. It was like nails on a chalkboard. It reminded her of angry dogs barking, and screeching from a wounded animal.

The man came into view. She finally saw him completely. He wore a gray sweatshirt, with the hood up. He had jeans with holes pervading them, and normal everyday shoes, for running and working out. He definitely didn't look professional, but the knife he scraped against the wall erased any doubt in Rachel's mind. Unless Moriarty felt she was expendable, this man would kill her. For a second, Rachel hoped she was still needed back at the mansion.

The man halted when he saw the nook where she was hiding. She curled herself tight into a ball, and waiting silently, praying he wouldn't find her. She was invisible to his eyes, but what if he kicked into the darkness, and found her? What then? She couldn't run, and she couldn't fight.

He stretched out his arm, and let the knife slid over the wall above her. She was sitting on the floor, so he was well above her. The sound jarred her ears, and put her hair on end.

Then he was done. He shrugged to himself, and continued along the passage.

Rachel held her breath. Minimal thinking was right! The guy hadn't even thought about a sitting down position. She waited until the man had reached the end of the alley. Then she waited still, for a minute, then a few more, until maybe half an hour had passed. She sat there, shivering from the cold of early November.

Rachel sat there, exhausted. She sat for about two hours in total, just soaking up being alive. Then she began to think.

_What are my assets?_ She thought. She checked herself over. _Jeans, plain yellow T-shirt. Pack of gum in right pocket, some change in left pocket which could buy her new clothes. Socks, shoes, and a small red sweater._

Not the best assets in the world. But then again, she couldn't be picky. After all, she'd just ran for her life, and spent the rest of the night in an alleyway. Dawn was peaking over the horizon, sending rays of gold into the sky.

Rachel stood, and began to get ready.

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First Rachel got new clothes. She found a thrift shop and bought some of a completely new set of clothes. Then she found some public bathrooms and changed.

She did this so Moriarty didn't know what to look for, and because he probably had a tracker woven into some of her clothing.

Next, she looked in the mirror and made her hair look better. She washed off any dirt on her face, and found herself looking at a normal kid. Perfect cover.

Then, she needed to decide where to go. She didn't know anyone here. Moriarty had kept her in that wretched mansion for most of her life, so she didn't have any immediate contacts. She knew she couldn't go to the police. Moriarty would get free of the law somehow, and she'd get in trouble for running away from home.

She concentrated. _What was one name, just one, that she could trust? Trust wholeheartedly._

No answer came to mind until she remembered the obvious fact. Sherlock Holmes. That's who. Now she just needed an address. She found a library nearby, and used their computers. She researched Sherlock Holmes, and came up with a tobacco website. _How odd._ After a few minutes of digging, she finally found the address. 221B, Baker Street.


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter 11- Mycroft

Rachel walked all the way to 221B. She found she didn't like long, cold morning walks. It was around 11:00 by now. She knocked cautiously on the door, unsure what to do. A cheery old woman answered.

"Hello, may I help you?" She asked sweetly. "I'm Mrs. Hudson, the landlady. Are you here about the flat?"

"Sorry, no." Rachel deemed it good to be brief. Moriarty could be on her any minute. "I was looking for a certain Sherlock Holmes." She said it like a question.

"Sorry dear, their out again. Solving crimes, you know." Mrs. Hudson smiled. "Would you like to sit down, maybe have some tea? You look like you could need it."

Rachel was let down on this news. She'd been needing this to work. "I'm sorry." Rachel really was sorry. "I have to be quick. Are there any close contacts of Sherlock's I might find? I really need to speak with _someone._ I doesn't matter who."

Mrs. Hudson paused, unsure whether to help the strange girl. Finally, her better side won out. "Sure thing, darling. Sherlock's brother is in London right now. How about that?"

"Perfect. Thank you so much. Do you know the address? I have to meet him right away." Rachel's hope rekindled. "Oh, and between you and me, I'm kind of embarrassed about all this. Could you not tell Sherlock? I here he always makes fun of people a bit." She thought it would be best to remain invisible, even to her allies.

"Sure, sweetest." Mrs. Hudson smiled. What an odd girl. She looked scraggly and tired, and a long way from home, and Mrs. Hudson had a feeling that even a small amount of kindness would help her a lot. She had a feeling this girl had been through so much, kindness was a wonder to her.

They quickly located Mycroft's office. It was some skyscraper called "Morannio's Business and Politics Center" on a main street. Apparently she couldn't miss it. Mrs. Hudson, despite all of Rachel's tries of escaping, made her at least take a biscuit for the road, and ordered her a taxi to get her there faster.

"Thank you so much. You've been delightful." Rachel smiled. She wished she had someone fussing over her like that. Even if it sometimes got annoying.

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Rachel stepped out of the taxi in front of the skyscraper. It was massive. A silvery needle pointing everything it had at the sky with an accusing look to it. As if the sky had done something.

She stepped inside, and asked the secretary where Mycroft's office was.

"10th floor, room at the end of the hall. But he's very busy, so please schedule an appointment." The secretary didn't even look up.

"It's important." Rachel was tired of waiting.

"Fine, I'll call him." The secretary said annoyingly, then did, in fact, call him. "Hello sir, sorry. A younger girl is here to see you, says her name's Rachel. She says it's important." The secretary was silent for a bit, a string of nods and "yes's" following. "He says you'll have to schedule an appointment." She said after a while.

"I can't wait!" Rachel was getting desperate. Sherlock's hadn't worked, and now his brother's wouldn't either! "It's about Moriarty! Tell him that."

The secretary did as she asked, and was amazed, because the moment it left her lips Mycroft was silent on the other end. After the long pause, he said "Send her in."

The secretary motioned for Rachel to get in the elevator.

After that, Rachel went to the far room like she was told to. She passed a few adults waiting in line for the same room. She felt like she was cheating, cutting all of them.

She entered the room.

It was a large, fashionable room. Two chairs sat looking at a cherry wood desk, and Mycroft sat on the other side, busily filling out papers.

"Please." He motioned for one of the chairs. Rachel sat. "First, what's your name. Then tell me what this has to do with Moriarty."

"Well, you see I've recently ran away from home." Rachel said, not sure where to start.

"So?"

"My home is also the home of Moriarty." Rachel looked at Mycroft. "Mr. Holmes, should I start at the beginning?"

He nodded an affirmative.

Rachel decided to do the short version. "My house burned down and killed my parents. It was planned by Moriarty. Then he adopted me from the orphanage. When I asked why, he said I was special, like him and Sherlock and yourself. He's been teaching me for about two and a half years now, and I finally got my chance to escape last night, and I know he'll be after me now. Whether it's to retrieve me or kill me doesn't matter. I need your help, Mr. Holmes. I know I probably still have a tracker on me somewhere. He'll find me soon if you don't help."

Mycroft was silent. He didn't know what to say. This sounded so preposterous, it was hard for even him to swallow. "Prove it." He said. "Prove you're special."

Rachel sighed. "You woke up a bit late this morning, and couldn't get any coffee, which is why your handwriting is so messy here, because you're tired. You can't wait for lunch because then you'll get the aforementioned coffee. You're a high ranking official, or at least a very good businessman not only from this room and location, but by the easiness which you have in this office. You've been trying a new diet, but it hasn't been working out that well, and you're considering dropping it. However you'd really be ashamed if you did, so you persevere. You're disappointed with your younger brother, partly because of his frequently not working, also because he's a heavy smoker. Wait, Sherlock's a smoker? I wasn't paying attention when I saw him, so I didn't notice that. You're either a businessman or a politician, but I'd lean toward politician by how you keep everything good and presentable in your office. You wish the little girl who's blathering would shut up and get on with it, evident from how you're tapping your fingers." Rachel stopped and waited.

"That," Mycroft said at last, "was exactly how Sherlock always did it. Now tell me," He leaned back in his chair, "How did you escape?"

"Moriarty wanted me to come with him to his work, and watch and take notes. So he brought me to the swimming pool where he met Sherlock. I trust Sherlock told you this?"

Mycroft nodded. "It's hard for him to keep a secret. The one with the bomb found on the floor last night?"

"Yes." Rachel paused but then continued. "I watched, and there was nothing I could do. So when it came time to go back, and they were in the car waiting, I just ran for it."

"Is that actually what happened? Or are you shortening it up?" Mycroft sounded doubtful.

"Shortening it. Moriarty threatened for a bit, but I didn't really care." Rachel bounced in her chair, suddenly energetic. "So will you help me?"

A knock came at the door. Someone was tired of waiting. "Please Mr. Holmes." Rachel pressed, knowing her well being relied on what he said next. "I need your help. I can't-" Her voice broke. She tried again. "I can't go back there. I just can't."

"Of course." Mycroft kept his straight face very well. "I'll see that you have somewhere to stay for the time being. I'll try to get more done later."

Rachel sighed. "Thank you."

The impatient people knocking on the door persisted, until the secretary shooed them away. "Sorry sir. Bit of an impatient lot this time. I'll be sure they don't bother again."

Rachel sat back, relief flowing into her. She felt like she was finally free. Like she could do what she wanted, and no one, not even Moriarty, could stop her.

That was, until the door opened.

The door opened silently, and Rachel turned to see a man in a light gray suit walk in. Moriarty strode into the room. Mycroft visibly paled, and Rachel stood up angrily and glared.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Holmes." Moriarty said, talking to Mycroft first. Then he turned to Rachel, his eyes looking at her, almost through her. She could tell he was angry. Very, very angry, and that he'd find some way of making Rachel pay for what she'd done. "Hello, Rachel."


	12. Chapter 12

Chapter 12- Weak Spot

Moriarty seated himself opposite Mycroft, his dark eyes hollow with madness. "I trust Rachel has updated you on everything?" He asked.

"Indeed. Frankly I find you having an apprentice a bit odd, Jim. After all, you get bored so quickly, wouldn't teaching be torture?" Mycroft was obviously stalling, trying to assess the situation. He looked over at Rachel. She could see it in his eyes. For once, the businessman didn't know what to do.

"Yes well, some precautions had to be made, and an apprentice was one of them. Rachel has been most naughty recently." Moriarty glared daggers at Rachel.

"Really? Please, enlighten me." Mycroft leaned forward, keeping the "friendly" conversation going.

"Well, she ran away from home and somehow evaded my honor guard." Moriarty smiled cruelly.

"She failed to tell me that." Mycroft said, brow crinkled in worry as he looked over at Rachel.

"He sent a knife wielding maniac after me!" Rachel snarled. "I hardly call that an honor guard!"

"Peace." Moriarty said. "Rachel, I am prepared to forgive you if I get an apology. However, if not, I will be forced to use... other methods." Rachel stared at the wall, ignoring Moriarty.

"I trust she is why you're here?" Mycroft put his hands together and rested his chin on them in a thinking pose.

"Yes, unfortunately. I trust you know that you may not tell anyone of her existence?" Moriarty's voice was steely now.

"Whyever not." Mycroft's voice was challenging now. He didn't want to do as Moriarty said, just because of some empty threat.

"Let me put it this way." Moriarty's insane eyes grew fiery with excitement, clearly happy to be doing something. "If you tell anyone, the next dead body you find will be that of your brother's." Mycroft flinched slightly. Moriarty stood, continuing with what he was saying. "And then you'll find John Watson dead along side him. And after that," He paused. "After that you'll find the body of the person you were trying to save. You'll find the body of poor little Rachel Burns."

Moriarty turned, and put a hand on Rachel's shoulder, becoming a very convincing concerned parent. He guided her out of the room, leaving Mycroft sitting there horrified. Rachel looked back at him, fear in her eyes. _Help me._ She pleaded silently to him, and although she was sure he heard, he couldn't do anything anymore. His hands were tied. She looked at him, and he looked down. Mycroft couldn't help anymore. Her break for freedom had failed.

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Moriarty led Rachel to a taxi pulled up and waiting at the side of the road. He climbed in the front seat, leaving Rachel the back to herself. She sat sulkily, neither speaking, nor even looking at either of the men in the front seats. She could still tell exactly who was driving the car, and what his day had been like. But she kept silent, refusing even to show off.

They pulled up the accursed mansion. Rachel glared at the walls. She imagined the shrubberies burning, and the windows breaking, and the paint peeling off on the walls of the rooms from time. She imagined this place dying, and releasing her from it's icy cold grip. It was a beautiful mansion in reality though. She should have been lucky. But as it was, she wasn't.

Moriarty got out, as did Kenny, and they both waited for Rachel, almost exactly like the night she'd run away. Moriarty finally sighed, and gestured for Kenny to open Rachel's door for her. "You can't sulk forever." Moriarty snarled. "I can break you as easily as that." He snapped his fingers. "If you continue, I may have your food privileges revoked. How does a weak without food sound to you?"

Rachel stared out the other window, toward freedom. She refused to answer. Instead she just sighed, and got out of the car from the other side. The side Moriarty wasn't standing on. She knew that making a fight about something as trivial as getting out of a taxi wouldn't get her anywhere.

"Well at least you know when to comply." Moriarty chuckled to himself. "Kenny, get her back inside. If she keeps sulking, take her food or something away for a day and a half. I don't care." He waved at Kenny to go, and began walking back toward the mansion alone, obviously annoyed at all the trouble Rachel was causing.

"I didn't ask for this, you know." Rachel said suddenly, the tears just spilling out. "If I got the chance, I'd choose to be the stupidest, thickest person in the world. In fact, I'd rather choose to be dead than be caged like an animal." She ground her teeth and looked at the horizon not blocked by the mansion. The tears just fell down like rain. She scrunched up her face and made them stop coming. She didn't want to look weak.

"You didn't choose this," Moriarty said cruelly, "But I still expect you to make good use of it." He turned to Kenny. "Don't let the maids give her any food for a full day. Let's see if she's ready to apologize by then."

He turned and walked cheerily away, leaving Rachel to be led back inside. She quickly found herself in her old room. It looked exactly the same, untouched since she'd ran away.

Untouched since her try at freedom.

She sat down and everything just kind of came rushing to her. She'd failed. That would be the last time in a long time that Moriarty gave her an opportunity like that. She knew if she got caught trying to escape again, she wouldn't be let off the hook so easily. Not that this was at all easy.

She looked at the wall determined not to cry. And she sat there until she decided to draw on the paper still left on her desk. She walked over, and looked down. The paper was there all right, but then she remembered: She didn't have a pen. She sat at her desk and rocked the chair back and forth thoughtfully. What could she do now? She was already bored.

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Moriarty sat at a small table in one of the courtyards. A bird sang cheerily, and he wished someone would shoot it.

He had no sympathy toward the little girl, but he still needed her. It was just a question of how she could be broken. _Everyone has a weak spot, Rachel Burns. All it takes is the knowledge of what, and then you can get broken like you wouldn't believe._ Moriarty thought for a moment. What was Rachel's weak spot? her achilles heel, her kryptonite?

Moriarty thought, and then an idea sprang up. It was so simple, but he knew it would work. It was perfect.

He could break Rachel Burns. Of that he was sure. One way or another, Rachel would apologize. And then she would join his side, more loyal than ever before.

It was just a matter of time.


	13. Chapter 13

Chapter 13- Spaghetti

Rachel sat at her desk. She was bored. Incredibly bored. In fact, she didn't think she could stand another minute of being cooped up in her room. It was just too boring.

She decided to make paper airplanes. She tried one, and when it fell, she made improvements. She worked like that for an hour at least. By the end she had an airplane that could fly farther than the length of her room, but it still bothered her, because she couldn't see how far it would actually go.

Rachel was hungry too, to be honest. She concealed it well though, and after it became unbearable, she decided to sleep it off. She'd just try to be asleep for the rest of the day. That way she wouldn't feel the hunger gnawing at her innards. Rachel got on her pajamas, and tried desperately to go to sleep. She was so bored, and so, so hungry, and sleeping would momentarily fix both problems. She hadn't had food since yesterday morning, and wouldn't until tomorrow afternoon. It would be a long night.

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Rachel woke up. She'd slept a very light sleep for most of the night, but the hunger was starting to hurt too much, and she'd woken up. She curled up in a ball, trying to stop it somehow. She was being starved into submission, that she knew. The question was why. Why would Moriarty choose this tactic? He was never this straightforward. There was something else, something she was missing.

Today, worse than her hunger, was an overpowering sense of boredom. Rachel looked around her room. Paper planes were stuck in nooks and crannies, and piling up in the trash. She took the best one she'd made, the one that could fly farther than the length of her room. She vowed the moment the door to her room opened, she'd toss it in the hallway, just to see how far it could go.

Rachel sat in her office chair again. She swiveled it back and forth, back and forth. What was Moriarty up to? She sat thoughtfully for a moment. Was he trying to starve her into submission, or bore her to death? Or maybe a combination of both? She sighed. She wouldn't know until he wanted her to know.

She spun herself in the office chair for a bit, then clasped her hands behind her back and paced around the room until her feet hurt. She continued pacing anyway, not caring about the burning of the soles of her feet. Rachel knew it wasn't a good idea to pace at all. It would wear her out faster, and she'd get hungrier as a result. She paced anyway, ignoring common sense.

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Moriarty sighed. Rachel was being stubborn, and he really didn't want to use his other tactics. He had felt that boredom might be enough, but now he would have to use his secret weapon. He'd used it countless times before, but something told him that it wouldn't be quite as effective on this girl as most others he'd tried it on.

Moriarty made a call. Kenny answered, currently off in London doing some other devious plot. "Kenny, you're needed."

Kenny sighed on the other line, and looked at the diagrams for a heist he'd been making. "I'm kind of busy at the moment, boss." He said regretfully. "Are you sure there isn't someone else who can help?"

"Of course I'm sure!" Moriarty said angrily. "Why else would I have bloody called you? As if I don't have other people to call. No, I only called you because everyone else is busy at the moment. Come immediately."

Kenny sighed again, looked over at Mr. Gammon, his work partner who was helping with the diagrams, and looked back at the phone. "Fine! I'll be right there!" He said, completely ill tempered. He looked back at Gammon, shrugged, and left without a word.

Shortly afterward, he arrived back at the mansion. Moriarty was waiting for him, clearly impatient. "What took you?"

"Nothing. I came right here." Kenny said, looking unsure about what his boss meant.

"No, it's obvious that you visited something or someone on the way, from how you keep fidgeting your fingers and darting your eyes back and forth.

"If you must know, I was almost done planning a heist when you called, so I took five more minutes to complete the diagrams." Kenny said weakly, obviously fearful of what Moriarty might do to him. "What do you need me for?"

"It's Rachel again. She won't break, so I have a little something in store. I just need you to administer it, since I'm so busy." Moriarty smiled wickedly.

"Tell me what to do, sir." Kenny said tiredly.

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Later that night, Kenny snuck into the kitchens. He quickly found the plate that was going to Rachel's room, and asked a chef to make sure. Then, before the spaghetti was taken up to her, he revealed a small packet. He ripped it open, and sprinkled a powder on top of the sauce. To the untrained eye, it looked like nothing, but Kenny knew what it was. The boss had told him it's exact purpose.

_Have a good meal, Rachel Burns, _Kenny thought. _I hope you live through it._

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Someone knocked on Rachel's door, and Rachel's eyes shot open immediately. Finally! Someone to talk to for even a moment was sweet relief.

Alice came in, holding some spaghetti for Rachel. "Here you go dearest. Hope it hasn't been too tough on you." Alice said. "How you holding up?"

"Bored." Rachel used only the one word. She was lying down on her bed, but sat up. She got up and crawled to the bedside table. Not for the food, but for the paper airplane. She'd already made copies of it, just in case she lost one, which she was about to.

She walked over to the door. "May I?" She asked Alice.

Alice nodded. "Alright, just don't be long."

Rachel went outside her room, and threw the paper plane down the hall. It went the entire distance, maybe fifty meters, probably more. It slammed into the wall.

Rachel sucked in a breath. "Well, I'll never know how far my paper planes go now."

Alice nodded. "That was really good, Rachel. Hopefully the boss will let you out soon." Rachel hoped, but knew it was not to be. Not until she'd "apologized" to the madman.

"See you Alice." Rachel said as the door closed.

"Bye Rachel. Remember to eat up, you haven't had anything in awhile."

_That's the truth._ Though Rachel. She turned to the plate of spaghetti. She thought she detected a chemical odor to it, but that couldn't be so, could it? Moriarty was many things, but she doubted he'd poison his only successor. Still, what was that smell? Rachel's mouth watered, and she decided that she didn't care. She ate up.


	14. Chapter 14

**A/N- Just a before warning- There is a little bit of torture in this chapter. Nothing major, in fact, it's not horrible, compared to other things Moriarty has done, but still. Just to be on the safe side, I'm letting you know.**

Chapter 14- Fire and Ice

Rachel sat back on her bed. The spaghetti had warmed her up, and it felt good to have eaten something at last. She sighed, and went back to her paper airplanes.

She was almost done with her improved model, when a pain shot through her. She yelped, flinching, and causing her last crease to go awry. So much for the paper plane. The crease made it imperfect, and she was a perfectionist. She'd have to start over.

The pain shot through her again. This time it stayed there, a dull, cold burning in the pit of her stomach. _What was going on? Was she dying?_

It shot through her again, with increasing pain. She hobbled over to her bed, and sat down as another burst of cold heat burned in her. It was unbearable. It felt like she'd swallowed dry ice, and lava, and the combination was burning a hole in her gut. Rachel clutched her abdomen, trying to find a comfortable position.

She let out a gasp as another pain came zipping through her. A cough raked her body, and she lay down in bed, trying desperately to stop the burning. _What had Moriarty done to her? What had she eaten?_ The odor from the spaghetti that she'd smelled earlier must have been a chemical. Rachel wondered why she hadn't stopped to consider what she was eating.

The pain jolted her again, this time harder still, then subsided into a throbbing force in her gut. She opened her mouth in a soundless howl. _It hurt, it hurt so much. _The pain stopped jolting, but began to slowly grow in her stomach. Her eyes teared up, and she found herself crying. She clutched her hands around her knees, trying to compress the feeling until it wasn't there.

It continued, never stopping, ever growing, for minute upon minute upon minute until Rachel was sure that she had lived a thousand lives with the same pain, always racing, always scorching, always surging through her. A thousands different lives of torment, torment always from the same person. Moriarty. A thousand lives, a million years, a billion screams.

Hours passed. She lay there, trembles running up and down her limbs. It was like fire and ice, working together to destroy her from the inside. She closed her eyes, wishing it would end. Wishing she would end. She bit her lip, hoping the pain would subside.

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A few hours later, Rachel woke. The pain was still there, bubbling up inside her. She cringed as she sat up, and tried to move her legs. She noticed that dinner was now set out for her on the bedside table. She smelled it, ignoring her condition. The same chemical smell was in it. She couldn't place it, but knew that it was the reason she was like this.

She tried to ignore the pain, and instead went to work on her planes again. She was trying a new design, one made for flips and turns, not distances. She found that if she focused on it, the pain wasn't so bad.

Of course, her focus was broken when the door's lock rattled, and someone strode into her room. And with her concentration shattered, she felt another wave of hurt roll over her.

Moriarty walked up to her, eyeing her carefully. He smiled, his dark eyes watching her expectantly. "Apologize, Rachel." His voice sent shivers down her spine.

"No!" Rachel could barely think, the pain was so distracting, but she managed to say the simple word. "You're a murderer, and a criminal, and I will never join you." She didn't know where it came from, but the words came out easily. After all, it was true. "You're a psychopath. Utterly insane, and I am glad to be able to say I will never serve you willingly." Rachel stopped as the pain bit into her again.

Moriarty smiled, that vampire smile that unnerved Rachel so much. "We'll see about that." He turned, and left the room, closing the door quietly on his way out. Rachel could barely hear the lock click as her body quaked from the pain.

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After a day of continual hurt, the pain began to wane. Rachel found herself able to move more, free from the constricting power of the poison.

It was morning now. Rachel took a shower, and got ready for the day. She wasn't going anywhere, but she might as well keep good hygiene. Everything was sore, and she found herself having waves of nausea now that the poison's effects were depleting. Rachel barely made it from her desk to the toilet when she threw up. She kept throwing up, her body wanting to get the poison out as fast as possible.

She continued throwing up until she was dry heaving, which hurt incredibly. Rachel wiped her mouth, sickened. She flushed the throw up away, and, now that the poison was gone, went back to her planes.

She was hungry, and tired, and sore all over. But she wouldn't admit it, and she definitely wouldn't join Moriarty.

Alice arrived soon after, looking worried as she stepped in. She glanced about for Rachel, finding her working on another plane.

"Rachel you should be in bed!" Alice said, clearly caring for Rachel's safety.

"I'm better now, and bed is boring." Rachel didn't look up, still fiddling with her plane, trying to decide where best to fold next.

"I don't care if bed is boring. I was told you were ill!" Alice said angrily. "And you can't get over a cold while you're playing with a paper airplane!"

"I wasn't ill, I was poisoned!" Rachel shouted suddenly. "Moriarty poisoned my food."

Alice was silent. She looked sick to her stomach. "I gave you poisoned food?"

Rachel nodded, still looking at her paper. "It isn't your fault, Alice. It's mine. He's angry with me. This is my punishment."

Alice looked horrified. "That's barbarick! I assume that this food is poisoned as well?" She held out a plate of eggs and ham that were supposed to be Rachel's breakfast.

Rachel turned in her office chair, and sniffed the plate. The same chemical smell dominated the food. "Yes." She turned back to her plane. "Don't try to fight him Alice. This is my battle, I have to fight it alone, or else Moriarty will think less of me. And trust me," Rachel looked Alice in the eyes. "You want him to have a high opinion."

Alice nodded numbly, setting the plate down on the side of the desk, and exiting the room. The door clicked shut softly, the keys rattled, then the lock clicked, and silence again stifled the room.

Rachel sighed, took the plate in her hands, and walked over to the bathroom. She dumped the food in the garbage can there, and placed the plate on the counter. It looked like she'd be hungry for a long time now.

Rachel turned back to the office, walking silently. She sat back down, and looked at her airplane. How she wished she could fly. Fly out of this prison, fly away from everything. Fly away from the world.

**A/N- I hope to elaborate on Rachel's wanting to fly. I can think of a really good way it ties into the actual Sherlock episodes. If you can guess it, I'll be really surprised! Please guess in your comments! That is, if I get any comments. :( Anyway, anyone who gets it right will get listed as ****awesome in the next chapter!**


	15. Chapter 15

**A/N- Only one person guessed, which wasn't surprising, given no one comments. But I may as well show what they thought:**

**The Musical Bender believes it's a reference to "A Scandal in Belgravia," with it's Flight 007.**

**Thank you, Musical Bender, for commenting. I can honestly say that you didn't get it, but to keep guessing! I won't be revealing it just yet. Can't say what chapter exactly, but it'll come up. Keep guessing!**

Chapter 15- Paper Planes

Rachel was hungry. So hungry, in fact, she was contemplating whether to eat more of the poisoned food or not. On one hand, not eating would result in a dull, annoying pain that bit into her stomach. On the other hand, eating it would give her a sharp pain, but momentary satisfaction at being full. She finally decided no, and went to the bathroom to get a drink of water. She drank a lot of water, hoping it would help her feel less hungry. It only made it worse.

Rachel went over to her planes again. She had all her finished works set like displays on the shelves of her bookcase, since she didn't have any books to put there anyway. She'd labeled what each one was good at. How she wished she could fly. She wished it with all her heart. Then she could fly away.

She sat down, and was about to begin working on her next model, one that could carry a large load of weight and still fly a long distance, when a voice spoke out behind her. Moriarty had entered silently, as he always did nowadays. "Are you ready to apologize?" He asked in that odd voice that brought Rachel back to the night at the swimming pool, "Or are you still looking forward to more poison?"

"Poison please." Rachel held her hand out expectantly, waiting for another plate of food, or other object intended to cause her pain.

"Oh Rachel." Moriarty said pityingly. "Oh Rachel, Rachel, Rachel." He shook his head every time he said the name. "Do you ever wonder why I do this? Has the thought even crossed your mind?"

"Apparently no, since you're asking." Rachel said, her hand dropping back to her desk as she began on the plane.

"I do want you on my side, Rachel dear." Moriarty inspected his nails. "I didn't want to resort to this. But you left me no choice."

Rachel still hadn't looked at him. She knew what she would see. Why should she give him more attention than he deserved? "I suppose you think this is my fault, then?" She asked, as she folded the next crease. The plane was beginning to take shape.

"Of course not." Moriarty said, actually sounding like a parent. "It was I that upset you, after all."

By "upset," he must have meant when he'd almost blown those two men up. Upset didn't do her feelings justice, but Rachel kept that to herself. "Yes, but you _did_ go to all the trouble of retrieving me." She folded the first wing's main structure.

"True. True." Moriarty said distantly. "Rachel, you have to break sometime. No one is invulnerable."

"Yes, well, you've found the person with the vulnerability that you can't find." Rachel folded the next wing on her plane.

"I will find it, eventually." Moriarty's voice was dead serious.

"Well, Moriarty, I hope that eventually is a long time from now." Rachel said bitterly, folding faster as her fingers got warmed up.

"It's Jim." Moriarty said, but then was silent for some time. Finally, he walked over to Rachel's collection of paper airplanes. "Beautiful, aren't they." He said, his voice deceptively calm. "You've done a good job on them, Rachel." He paused again. "Pity they'll go to waste."

Rachel stiffened. She'd worked unimaginably hard on those planes. Moriarty was hinting that he'd get rid of them? She couldn't bare the thought. "What do you want, Moriarty?" She asked finally, knowing not to displease him.

"Call me Jim." Moriarty said again. "And as to what I want," He paused, soaking up how Rachel was bristling with hate. "I want you to be on my side. Anything less than that I just can't do with."

"You ask for the one thing I cannot give." Rachel said, thinking of her parents. She was _not_ going to be joining their murderer's side. "I'm sorry, but you'll just have to find another prodigy. I will never be able to apologize for running away, and therefore I will never earn your forgiveness. You may as well kill me."

Moriarty was angrily silent. He picked up one of the planes suddenly, and mashed it into a ball. "You'll never fly, Rachel. Never. I'll have your wings clipped." He stalked out of the room, throwing the wad of paper on the ground on his way out.

Rachel went over to the smashed airplane as soon as the door closed. She had memorized every design she'd made, so she could remake it, but it still hurt to see her work stepped on like that. She picked up the plane sadly, seeing which model had been crushed. It was one of her trick planes, the one that flew in endless circles when she threw it. She sat down at her desk, and began working on a replacement.

Her fingers moved fast, skillfully. While she worked, Rachel thought. _Death is better than being Moriarty's servant._ She decided. And that gave her an idea. She was desperate. She wouldn't last much longer without food. Then she'd have to give in. Rachel smiled to herself, rocking back and forth in her office chair. She'd just figured out a way to spite Moriarty. Spite him from beyond the grave.

**A/N- No one's guessed it correctly yet, and next chapter might be too late! Until I get to the part where my story ties in with the actual Sherlock plot, the deal is still open. You can be labeled as awesome if you guess correctly at what Rachel's flying dream has to do with the plot of Sherlock. Hope you try guessing if you review or comment! And please, if you've already guessed, you can again!**

**-Misty**


	16. Chapter 16

**A/N- The next person to guess has been EmiStone. Thank you, EmiStone, for commenting. You've come the closest, guessing that it has to do with Sherlock falling from the roof. And although this isn't the connection I intended, it bears a striking resemblance to what I'm thinking. (Evil grin) I will tell you it **_**is**_ **from that episode, but I'm looking for a specific quote! Hope you continue to guess!**

**-Misty**

Chapter 16- Illusion

Rachel got to work. To the cameras in her office, she was just working on her planes, like she always was. This was different though. Rachel worked with flawless accuracy, and with a speed she wouldn't have thought possible. She folded, and creased, and bit an edge when it wasn't folding far enough.

She depended upon this. Her time was running out. She was getting too hungry, too weak, and if that happened, she wouldn't have the strength to complete her plan.

After maybe thirty minutes, she had an array of paper airplanes on her desk. Each was perfect looking to her, with crisp edges, and wings that crackled like fire. They were all designed to carry heavy loads. She sighed. They would only be perfect if they worked.

She looked at them, counting them. Then she counted the number of trackers that she knew were on her. _Seven?_ She picked up the planes, and threw them one by one across the room. They smacked into the wall near the door, right where she needed them to be. Then, she decided to go to the bathroom.

Once there, she took the trackers out of her coat. She knew where they'd be, since she'd learned from the past experience. She also knew where the one that she'd missed when she ran away was. it was woven into the sole of her left shoe. She slid her shoe off, yanked the sole off, and placed it next to the other trackers.

The illusion had to work.

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The worker watching the trackers scrunched up his face for a moment. It looked as if the tracker had jumped, just for a second, but then it was still. It realigned with the others, and the henchman sat back in his chair. It was nothing. He sipped his tea as he boredly watched the screen looking for anything suspicious.

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Rachel took the trackers in her hand. She slid them all into her pocket, the one she could easily access. She walked out of the bathroom again. She hoped no one had noticed the tracker jump when she'd yanked into out of her shoe.

She went over to where her planes were on the floor. She picked them up, nonchalantly putting a tracker in each. To the cameras, it was just the flick of a hand. She put them all in a row on her bed. Then she waited.

She'd timed it perfectly. Alice opened the door, and Rachel was waiting. "Hi." Rachel acted the role of the depressed child. "Here with more poison?"

"I'm afraid so." Alice handed Rachel a plate with a ham sandwich and an apple on it. "Darling, you're getting so thin. Are you okay?"

"I will be." Rachel said.

Alice gave Rachel a quizzical look, but decided not to ask questions. She was in a hurry today, Rachel noted. Good. "Could I throw a few planes?" She asked, putting everything she had into her voice.

"Sure." Alice said, interested in what Rachel had made this time.

Rachel stepped out the door, and fired her planes. One by one, they each went, in different directions. One went up the hallway in front of her, another to her right, then to her left, then back to the front. She did this until all her sailing down the halls. With the trackers in them, mind.

Alice turned to go. "See you soon, darling." Rachel smiled, and watched Alice leave. Right before she closed the door fully, however, Rachel stuck some papers in the doorway. It didn't protrude outside, leaving Alice none the wiser. But it stopped the door from clicking, and locking. Alice couldn't close it all the way, but got too frustrated, and just left it. _Rachel wouldn't try to escape. She knows she won't be able to._ Alice thought softly as she went down the hall. _Although it might not be too bad if she did escape._

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The guard watching the trackers visibly flinched. All of them had gone off in different directions! Not to mention out in the mansion, where they weren't supposed to be. It was as if the girl had ran in five different directions, and now he had to stop all of them.

His hand fumbled as he reached for his phone.

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Rachel waited until she felt that the trackers had been noticed. She heard people yelling in the halls, shouting at each other to find the missing girl. No doubt everyone was rushing about, not sure what to do, or where to go. This was her chance. She opened the door, and slid into the hallway. No one payed attention to the small figure as she strode across the hall. They were too busy with other things. Her illusion had worked.

She didn't know the layout of the mansion well, but she knew about the area near her room. There was a maintenance latter to the roof not far from her room. She dashed to it.

A group of security guards rounded the corner, and saw her entering the maintenance room. They ran after her.

Rachel began climbing. After several stories, she reached the hatch that led to the roof. She opened it, hearing the guards yelling into their radios below her. She stumbled out, onto the roof, dazed by the bright daylight.

Rachel walked over calmly, to the edge of the building, the gravel covering of the roof crunching underfoot. She stood at the edge, looking down at where the tips of her toes dangled off, into space. _A four story drop. _She turned to look at the guards, who had gotten up onto the roof, and were watching her, unknowing what to do.

Rachel smiled. She finally had bargaining power. She called over to them. "Get me Jim Moriarty."

It was true, Rachel would never make it out of this mansion alive. But dead was a different story.

**A/N- You came so close, EmiStone. There is a specific quote that Moriarty uses in "The Reichenbach Falls." You still have time! To everyone, not just EmiStone and The Musical bender, I will tell you once again: Please comment, and guess in your reviews!**

**-Misty**


	17. Chapter 17

**A/N- I don't really know where this story is going after this. Well, actually, I do vaguely, but it'll probably grow into it's own plot by itself. This is the chapter where the answer to the contest occur, so apologies to those who wanted to guess. :P Anywho, enjoy!**

**-Misty**

Chapter 17- Falling

Rachel stood at the edge of the building, waiting for Moriarty. She watched the clouds on the horizon, and the trees swaying in the breeze. It was a beautiful place, but all that had happened to her at the mansion destroyed the beauty.

Rachel shifted, and was surprised to find a piece of paper in her pocket. She took it out, fiddled with it for a while, then began folding it, into that memorable shape that everyone knew. After a few minutes, she held in her hand a little paper airplane.

It was quiet too. Quiet like Rachel hadn't heard before, as if the world was sucking up one deep breath before chaos exploded. She supposed that it must be chaos for the guards already. They had to find Moriarty, and somehow make sure that their mistake didn't cost them.

"A bit dramatic, isn't it Rachel?" Moriarty's voice cut through the glorious silence like a knife. He'd entered silently, like always. "I'd expected something more subtle."

"Yes, well." Rachel turned to look at him, a guarded expression on her face. "Get used to the unexpected."

Moriarty chuckled, for no reason Rachel could see. "Rachel, step down from there, and stop this foolishness. I forgive you." He said it as if it was funny, as if Rachel somehow didn't know something.

"What?" She asked sharply.

"It's just that you realize that you can't pull this off, you know. The guards will arrive shortly. They'll make sure you don't fall. Even if you do, we have people coming who will set up something to catch you." Moriarty chuckled again, that insane laugh that drove Rachel crazy. "And besides," He said warmly, as if he was talking about the weather, "you don't have the nerve anyway."

"How do you know?" Rachel took a threatening step toward the edge. She had known something like this would happen. She turned away from Moriarty, and back to the horizon.

"Your posture says it all, Rachel. You're stiff, and rigid, which means that you aren't okay with what's going to happen. You keep looking around, because you're nervous. Nervous because you don't want to die. You don't want to jump." Moriarty inspected his nails. "Elementary, really. I'm surprised you didn't try to cover it up."

Rachel's cold eyes kept to the horizon. "Maybe I'll prove you wrong." She stepped back to where she was, up on the edge with her toes hanging off. She threw her new paper airplane, and it sailed smoothly through the air, away towards who knew what. "You said I'd have my wings clipped. I've found an alternative." She looked down, down the drop to the ground below. _A very fast fall._

"Oh please, Rachel. Stop with the poems and just get on with it then." Moriarty motioned for her to jump. "After all, that's what you're trying to accomplish, isn't it? Why delay."

Rachel pondered that. It made _sense,_ and sense was short at hand right now. She sighed, but then was quiet, looking down, and thinking. She looked down, horrified and elated at the same time. _Why delay._

She turned around randomly. Rachel looked at Moriarty, her eyes fearful, and her voice small, and weak. "I'm so afraid." Rachel said quietly.

"That's alright, Rachel. Now please _do_ step off the ledge." Moriarty said tiredly.

"I'm sorry. About everything. About running away, and not apologizing, and- and this." Rachel's voice cracked.

Moriarty smiled. He always got his way. Rachel had been relatively easy to contain. "Forgiveness is granted." He smiled dryly. Now to get her back in her room. He would definitely punish her, despite what he said here. Lying, to him, was always an option.

Rachel stepped down slowly. She unsurely faced the horizon yet again, her eyes hollow. "I thought, just for a moment, that I really was going to jump. I thought I was actually going to die." She looked at the pavement below, a sick feeling in the pit of her stomach as she readied herself for what Moriarty would never expect.

Behind her, Moriarty texted the leader of his guard.

_Contained. Head back to stations. Send someone to escort her to her room. -JM_

Rachel sighed. Now there was no turning back. She turned to Moriarty, staring, analyzing. Just like he'd always taught her. "You just texted the official in charge of the guard, telling him the situation has been stopped, and that there is no further worry. However you are still unsure, which is why you haven't yet contacted Kenny, who I know you would immediately if the situation was resolved completely." Rachel said, a smile creeping onto her face. "You're even further unsure since you hold yourself erect like that. You're uncomfortable. If you knew you'd won you would have dropped your guard, but you haven't. Unfortunately Moriarty, your doubts are correct."

Moriarty paled, but managed to keep his mask of logic on. "You have guts, Rachel. But still," He gestured to the ledge. "You just don't have that spark. After all, you did just apologize for _everything_."

Rachel smiled. She had him confused now. "That's where you're wrong. Are you really so prone to believe acting? Because I hadn't rehearsed once. I knew you'd check my stature, trying to reassure yourself that I wouldn't jump. So I simply made a few corrections." Rachel relaxed, letting herself go into her nature position. "What do you see now?"

"I see a girl ready to jump." Moriarty said numbly, realizing his mistake. "I see a girl ready to die."

"You see correctly." Rachel stepped back up to the ledge. She raised her chin proudly, and turned to face Moriarty, clasping her hands behind her back. "Falling." She said, as if in a dream. "It's a bit like flying. Except you have a more permanent destination." She glanced over her shoulder, looking at the asphalt below. "I think I'm ready to go to that place now."

Moriarty was shocked. Rachel was talking very deeply here. He'd never realized she thought in such a deep, dark way. He might have to quote her in one of his upcoming projects.

Moriarty was quiet. He knew there was nothing he could do. Just as Rachel had known those years ago that she couldn't do anything, he knew right now that he was helpless to stop her. And so he watched as the fearless girl, the little girl who'd kept going, stepped up to the ledge, stepped up to her doom.

Rachel looked down. "I'm going to fly away." She whispered. "Just like I've always wanted."

And with that, she jumped.

**A/N- I'll be honest, I don't know how I'll get Rachel out of this one. But I will. Probably. Anyway, I don't know how long it'll take to get my next chapter out, but I'll try to make it soon.**

**As to my contest, the answer of how it ties into Sherlock is when Moriarty is talking to Sherlock in his flat, in "The Reichenbach Fall." He says something like this "But don't worry. Falling is just like flying except there's a more permanent destination." I hope that the relation is clear, but if not, just PM me. That quote is probably the best line Moriarty has in the series so far.**

**The closest person to the correct answer was EmiStone. Good job EmiStone, even if not the exact quote, you guessed really close. So, I label you as awesome, and hope that you've enjoyed the FanFiction so far. Have a good time reading!**

**-Misty**


	18. Chapter 18

Chapter 18- Slow Motion

Falling felt nice on Rachel's skin. The cool air whipped past, and even though it was so fast a fall, so quick a second for Rachel to reach the ground, Rachel noticed everything. It was like the world was in slow motion. It was as if, just when she was beginning to come in tune to her abilities, she'd no longer have need for them.

The trees were rocked by another gust of wind, and a bird took flight from the garden, cawing from fright at the body falling down nearby. She noticed the bees in the garden as she fell, and the fountain trickling, and a servant exiting the building. Every detail was taken in, and for once, the chaos was in order. In that second of falling, Rachel noticed everything, and she was everything.

Until something caught her eye. A black car on the driveway had pulled up while she and Moriarty had been talking. A man was running, running to catch her. It wasn't one of Moriarty's men. This man had a black suit, and a tie, and yet was running to catch her. None of Moriarty's men would do that, unless a servant was ordered to, and even then, they'd have different attire.

The world was still in slow motion. She was still taking in every detail, but she put it aside, and focused on the man in the suit. He was sprinting, but to Rachel, in her slow motion-like world, he was only a slow jog.

But even then, she knew he would just make it. He would be able to catch her.

Rachel wasn't sure if this was good or bad. She wanted this nightmare over with, but if that man wanted to help her, then she'd gladly accept. But if he was an enemy, what then? Rachel's eyes darted as she fell, in her little bubble of slow motion, until at last, the man reached his destination, and caught Rachel.

He put her in a standing position on the ground, looked up at Moriarty, still watching them coldly, and whispered one word. One very simple command. "Run."

And they did. They ran back to the car, and when the guard was just coming out, they reached it, and jumped in. The man put a foot on the gas, and sped away. To where, Rachel didn't know. But she had a guess.

The guards that had arrived too late just stood, staring at the car that had escaped the inescapable. There was nothing they could do. They just watched the car speed away. So did Moriarty, and with a sigh, dialed his phone. Rachel had been his entertainment, but now he had nothing to do. He dialed Kenny. "Kenny, let's not wait. Let's get on with Project Reichenbach right now."

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"Where are we going?" Asked Rachel as they rounded another bend.

"I can't tell you. There might be a bug somewhere." The man answered solemnly. He slowed as he got onto the main streets.

Rachel sighed. It was always this secretive nonsense. "Then may I ask how you found me? And how you're timing was spot on?" Rachel decided this might not affect anything if he told her.

The man sighed, making a sharp turn and going well above the speed limit. "We have bugs of our own." He smiled at this, as if it was funny to double cross people so slyly.

"Where was it?" Rachel asked curiously. She lurched to the side as her rescuer made another quick turn.

"You're other shoe. The one without the tracker in it." The man said absently. He was too focused on the road to care when Rachel took her shoe off and looked on the bottom of it, gaping to find a small chip embedded in the rubber that was recording the conversation to who knows where.

"I've got to get new shoes." Rachel said to herself. They rounded yet another bend. "I think we're back on a road we've already been on." Rachel said confusedly.

"Exactly. We're losing pursuers." He was still concentrating on driving.

Rachel sighed, and kept quiet as the ride progressed. Obviously not many answers would be given to her right now. So she sat back, and waited.

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After several backtracks and confusing turns, they finally arrived at what looked to be an old factory. A factory completely shut down, by the way.

Rachel was led to the main room, where she was left to wait. _Great_, she thought. _More waiting._

At last, another man strolled into the room, carrying an umbrella. It was Mycroft Holmes. "Good day, Rachel."

"Hello." Rachel said, but then froze. "Wait, Moriarty said he'd kill Sherlock and John and me if you interfered!"

"No, he said if I _told_ anyone. He didn't say anything about interfering. Moriarty loves leaving loopholes like that. He likes his little games." Mycroft said, leaning on his umbrella like it was a cane.

Rachel was silent. "Well, what's going to happen to me now?" She asked, knowing her life would be directed as Mycroft saw fit.

"You'll get a name change, and be adopted by someone who lives near Baker Street. That way I can keep an eye on both you and Sherlock." Mycroft inspected his nails. "After you're old enough, you'll be able to do as you wish, but until then, stay hidden."

"Will anyone else know I'm there?" Rachel asked.

"I'll give hints to Sherlock, and see if he bites. If he does, then yes, the occupants of 221B will know you exist. No one else, though." Mycroft began leaving, which surprised Rachel since she'd thought it would take longer.

"One last question." Rachel said. Mycroft stopped and waited for it. "How did you get that bug on my shoe?" Rachel voiced a question Mycroft hadn't been expecting.

"Simple. You place it where everyone steps in my office, and if I want to know what you're saying, it will stick to the bottom of your shoe. If not, it will stay where it is." Mycroft headed to the door. "Have a good day, Rachel Burns."

**A/N- Sorry for the abruptness that got Rachel out of the mansion. I couldn't think of another way to save her, so. I hope to conclude this soon, but not just yet. I'll probably end with Rachel having one last hurrah. Thanks for reading so far! And once again I will ask you to comment, and tell me what I should do better!**

**-Misty**


	19. Chapter 19

**A/N- This is after the Reichenbach Fall, just telling you. I hope to keep this going for a bit longer, because I think Rachel deserves a bit of good old fashioned revenge on Moriarty. Anyway, hope you enjoy!**

Chapter 19- Home

It was about a month after escaping from Moriarty. Rachel's new name was "Rachel Harris", since she didn't want her first name changed. Mycroft had gotten Rachel a flat all to herself, right across from 221B. Unfortunately, this might not have been a good thing.

Sherlock and John had taken the hints, and quickly deciphered them. Now, the two were her closest friends, but it was quite annoying to live so close. Sherlock would come by more than twice a day, asking for kitchen supplies or pots for his half witted experiments. Whenever Rachel said no, Sherlock would storm out and claim he wasn't angry, since he was above that sort of thing, but Rachel could see right through the mask.

John was more understanding. He came by and asked for Sherlock sometimes, knowing that any break from the detective was a good one. "Rachel, could we borrow a pitcher?" He'd ask.

"Not unless you sign a contract stating it'll come back unharmed." Rachel flipped the next page in the book she was reading. John left, knowing that fighting wouldn't get him anywhere.

It went like that, Rachel finally enjoying the world. The landlord was strict, but she was alright with that. She wasn't too social with her neighbors, afraid if Moriarty came back he'd hurt them. But despite all the annoyances of everyday life, she found herself at peace. At home.

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A knock sounded on her door one day. "Come in, Mycroft." Rachel said, not looking up.

"Deductive powers coming along, I see." Mycroft said with annoyance at being recognized before he'd entered. Rachel was acting more and more like his younger brother.

"What is it?" Rachel asked. "You haven't been here in weeks. Something's come up." She still hadn't looked up from her book.

Mycroft took the book from her and set it on the table, but kept it's page. Rachel blinked. "What?"

"I would like to inform you that Moriarty's been digging around for you in our database. He's only managed to find trivial information, but we can't keep you hidden forever. Rachel, if he finds you, he will stop at nothing to kill you." Mycroft leaned on the table, waiting for Rachel to say something.

"Kill me, or torture me, or something." Rachel said, reaching to pick the book back up. Mycroft picked it up and set it farther away.

"What's so good about this book, anyway?" Mycroft asked, looking at the cover. "The title tells you little about the book. 'Holes' isn't be the best choice for a title, is it?"

"That book won the Newbery Award! It's a good book, and I want it back." Rachel stood up, tired of trying to be civil. "Am I going to have to buy another copy?"

"Yes, come on, dear brother. Give her back the useless fiction." Sherlock had entered silently, as always. John was behind him. They'd obviously wanted to borrow something, but had found Mycroft instead.

Mycroft sighed and gave the book back to Rachel, who quickly opened it, but put it down and watched the conversation unfold.

"What are _you _doing here, Sherlock? Bothering Ms. Harris for some more experiments, I see?" Mycroft said coldly.

Rachel smiled. Sibling rivalry. Of course. Sherlock glared at her, knowing full well what she was thinking. "It's not sibling rivalry."

"Of course it isn't. I suppose you picked a fight with your brother because you had a bad day, nothing more." Rachel picked up her book and fled the room, waiting until Mycroft left.

She didn't have to wait long. Sherlock drove him away with those annoying deductions about Mycroft's diet. Then Rachel crept back into the room. "What do you want?" She asked, wanting some peace and quiet away from the detective.

"Sherlock would like a bowl to put his new head from the morgue in." John said regretfully.

"No." Rachel sat down on her favorite chair. "Now, if you don't mind, could I get some peace for once?"

Sherlock scowled. "Fine." He stormed out of the room, like always.

John walked up to Rachel, holding out an envelope. "Found it outside. It was address to you."

Rachel took it, and was frightened at what she saw. It was addressed to her alright, addressed in Moriarty's handwriting. John had begun to leave. "John, wait." Rachel said. "Get Sherlock, and get him back in here quick."

John heard the desperation in her voice, and ran out, getting Sherlock like she'd asked. They came back within the minute, John looking worried, and Sherlock looking bored. Rachel held the letter for him to see. He looked at it, not knowing who it was from. "What is it?" He asked, knowing Rachel would only delay him if absolutely necessary.

"A greeting from Moriarty." At her words, Sherlock's eyes widened and he took the letter from her outstretched hand.

His eyes ran along the envelope for a second, then he gave it back to Rachel. "Well," He asked. "What are you waiting for? Open it."

Rachel did, and read the message out loud.

To Rachel Harris- Take a midnight walk.

Rachel stiffened when she read this. Visibly so, and John asked. "What is it?"

"These are the exact words on the note I got the night my parents died. He's purposefully picking an open wound to attack." Rachel explained, and told them the story of how she had come to Moriarty's mansion in the first place.

"I had no idea." John said regretfully. "Is there anything we can do?"

"Oh please John. Save your opinion for later, it'll bore me to death." Sherlock put his hands it that traditional thinking pose of his. John bristled at the words. "He knows you're here, which means he's been watching you for some time. We may as well as take the walk too, since nothing would surprise him." Sherlock paced back and forth.

Rachel was about to interrupt and say she should be the only one to go, when Sherlock put a hand up to silence her. "Don't worry Rachel. I've been bored lately. I might as well. You aren't making me go out of my way."

"That wasn't what I was going to say." Rachel said. "I think that only I should go."

"Oh please!" Sherlock said. "Honestly, everyone is just so boring! Rachel, he's expecting everyone. Just trust me when I say that.I know Moriarty."

Rachel nodded, knowing that when Sherlock had a chance to be entertained, he was unstoppable. "Fine. Just don't blame me when you're being tortured to within inches of your life."

Sherlock grinned, and John looked sick. Rachel went over to 221B, to talk with Mrs. Hudson, the only sane voice in all the madness.

And then, they all waited. Waited for midnight.

**A/N- I hope that Rachel will get some revenge, but maybe Sherlock will too. If my characters are off, just let me know and I'll change them accordingly. This is after the Reichenbach Falls, just so you know. I hope to have another of Moriarty's games, since I've always liked that sort of cat and mouse scenario. Thanks for reading, and please remember to comment!**

**-Misty**


	20. Chapter 20

Chapter 20- A Game

Rachel was the one waiting this time, unlike the night her parents died. She, Sherlock, and John sat on the stairs of 221B, checking the window every minute or so. No one had arrived yet, and they wouldn't go out until then. So they sat, or at least John and Rachel sat. Sherlock paced around, muttering about who knew what.

Finally, when Rachel next checked the window, she saw a figure standing under the lamppost outside. "It's time." She said, earning an oddly happy grin from the detective.

"Finally!" Sherlock checked his watch. "He made it his goal not to be early, that's for certain."

Rachel scowled. Their lives were on the line, and once again, Sherlock Holmes only cared that the murderer wasn't late.

"Well, I guess we just go." John opened the flat's door and walked outside into the night air.

"Obviously." Sherlock smirked as they strode over to the figure. Rachel was shocked to see not a lacky, not a servant, but Moriarty himself standing there, in his customary pale gray suit.

"Hello Sherlock." Moriarty said deviously. He turned to John. "And Dr. Watson, of course."

Sherlock smiled that thin smile he made when he was covering up his emotions. "Hello, Moriarty. I have to ask, how did you survive when you committed suicide? It was quite a convincing act."

"Yes, well. I was about to ask you the same question." Moriarty smiled. "A specially modified gun can trick anybody. All you have to do is make it look convincing." Moriarty began to walk, just like that fateful night those years ago. The trio strode next to him, keeping pace. "And how did you survive the fall?" Moriarty asked, grinning.

"A magician never reveals his magic tricks." Sherlock said evasively. Moriarty frowned, clearly annoyed at not knowing.

John spoke up, wanting to remind the two masterminds that there were other people here as well. "Cut to the chase, Moriarty."

Moriarty sighed, turning to Rachel. "Hello, Rachel." His eyes bore into her. "It's been too long." He held out his hand to shake, which Rachel didn't make a move to pick up.

"Not long enough, if you ask me." She said wistfully. "My life's been delightfully boring when you stopped bothering me."

"Boring." Moriarty sighed, then began. "I'm here to give you an offer. One that you shouldn't refuse." Rachel listened intently, as did John and Sherlock. "I will give you your sanctuary here. In fact, I will protect it." Moriarty paused, clearly separating the goods from the bads. "However, in return you will become my apprentice again when I feel you're ready."

"Obviously answer. No." Rachel spat. "I'm disgusted that you think I'd be so easily swayed. I have a life here, finally. You just think you can uproot it? Just like that?" She calmed herself, then continued. "I don't care what you do to me, Moriarty. Honestly. You can torture me until the world ends and I won't budge." She said with steel in her voice.

Moriarty was quiet as they walked. He spoke up after about a minute. "Then I suppose you wouldn't mind finding some more fire and ice in your food?" Rachel flinched at the descriptor of the poison Moriarty had used on her.

Sherlock perked up. "Fire and ice? What's that?"

"A poison he used to torture me with. It gives one the feeling as though they are being burned and frozen from the inside out. Later it makes you vomit, and then he'd feed me more of it." Rachel whispered. Sherlock raised an eyebrow.

Moriarty shrugged. "She'd been a bad girl. So I punished her."

Rachel took a breath. She couldn't stand for much more of this. John noticed and pulled her to the side, standing between Moriarty and her like it would block the consulting criminal out. Rachel felt a surge of gratitude for the kind doctor. He was at least _trying_ to help.

"Cut to the chase, Moriarty." Sherlock said, eyeing him nemesis. "You never come around just to chat."

"Fine." Moriarty said, exasperated. "I want to play a game with you and little Rachel. Another game, not the end one, just a game."

"Go on," Sherlock beckoned, a hopeful expression crossing his face at the thought of entertainment.

"I'll tell you when I want to." Moriarty said, still walking. He'd walked up to a cab parked along their side of the street. He opened the door and climbed inside.

Rachel was startled to see Kenny in the driver's seat. "Hello again, Kenny." Rachel said, making the driver visibly bristle with distaste at being recognized.

Moriarty smiled that biting smile. "Enough chit chat. I think you should all go to bed. You'll need all the rest you can get, because tomorrow's a very big day." He turned to Rachel. "Consider my offer. Just consider it. And if ever you come across a moment of doubt about the decision you made tonight, just call."

Rachel didn't know what "call" meant exactly, but she had a feeling she'd find out soon. "I'm sure I'll find no need to." She smiled to cover her distress, and watched the cab as it drove away, down the streets of London, back, back to that accursed mansion. She swallowed, her throat tight. _A game._ What sort of game, she didn't know.

Rachel turned to Sherlock, expecting some answers, but found him punching the air in happiness. "Finally!" He roared. "Finally! A case!"

John looked condescendingly at him, and Sherlock stopped his rejoice. They both looked to Rachel, concern etched on John's face, Sherlock's face the usually mask. "Are you okay?" John asked, putting a hand on her shoulder.

"Fine. This just- it just reminds me of when my parents died. That's all." Rachel knew this didn't qualify as "okay," but she didn't want anyone fussing over her. John got the message, and led them all back to 221B, where the two bloggers entered, and wished Rachel a good night.

She turned back to her flat. On the way up, she noticed a package addressed to her. And again, it was in Moriarty's careful script. She sighed, placing it on her table and going to get ready for bed. She'd deal with it later.

**A/N- I hope that my "game" isn't too horrible. I probably won't be able to come up with anything half as clever as the actual show, but I'll give it a shot. Anyway, please review the chapter! Criticism is welcome!**

**-Misty**


	21. Chapter 21

**A/N- The Game begins! I will mention beforehand that the locations in The Game are fake. You will not find them on maps or anything, unless by freak coincidence I guess the same name of another existing landmark. So yah. I will also pre-apologize for The Game itself. I won't be able to make something nearly as good as the actual Sherlock, so don't expect anything mind-blowing. Anyway, I still hope this is an okay bit of writing. Enjoy!**

**-Misty**

Chapter 21- Box

Rachel woke around 7:00 AM. She got ready for the day as usual, but when she glanced at the table, she remembered about the package from the night before. She sighed, plopped it down in front of her, and inspected. It was of medium size, big enough to hold a large book. She poked it and prodded it, to make sure it was hard all the way around. Then she lifted it to see how heavy it was. Surprisingly, it wasn't too heavy. Maybe a pound at the most. It was wrapped in older paper, yellow and crackly. It was tied with some feeble looking string.

Rachel sighed. She had no doubt Sherlock would kill her if she opened it without him. So she threw on her jacket, and went over to 221B.

She knocked. Mrs. Hudson answered the door. "Hello, dear. Need anything?" She asked, glancing at the package.

"Yes, actually. Is John or Sherlock awake?" She asked, knowing that some people slept in longer than she did.

"Yes, Sherlock is. Didn't get a wink of sleep last night. You know how he is when he's on a case." Mrs. Hudson beckoned for Rachel to step in. Then she led her to the flat.

"Boys! Rachel's got a package." Mrs. Hudson said as she knocked.

Sherlock materialized instantly. "Is it from Moriarty?" He asked eagerly.

"The one and only." Rachel smiled. _Leave it to Sherlock to be eager about life threatening games with a criminal mastermind._ "Left me a little present last night."

"And you waited until morning to show me it?" Sherlock asked angrily.

"I didn't want to bother you! But from what Mrs. Hudson says, you don't need sleep anyway! I'll make sure to come by at two in the morning next time." Rachel said, equally angry. She hadn't meant any harm. She'd just wanted a break, after all.

Sherlock turned to Mrs. Hudson. "Could you wake John for me?" He asked. She nodded, and left the room. The moment she was gone, Sherlock frowned. "You've tested it?" Rachel nodded. "How so?" He asked.

"LIghtweight, firm all around, medium size. Moriarty's handwriting, obviously. Old paper, and feeble string, which makes me think that he's been keeping it for some time, but the string is cracked and not conforming to the box, so he's just put it on. Same goes with the paper." Rachel listed off everything she knew about it.

"Good." Sherlock smiled. "No crest on it like the others he's sent me, but we'll just go with it."

Rachel refrained from asking about the "others" that Sherlock was talking about. "Can I open it now? I know Moriarty wouldn't send anything lethal yet. That's not his style." She asked.

"Let's wait for John." Sherlock said, clearly not wanting to wait, but knowing the doctor would kill him if he didn't.

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John arrived a few minutes later. "Where were you?" Asked Sherlock, clearly impatient.

"Waking up." John didn't even try a comeback. "Now, this is the box you were blathering about?"

"Yes." Sherlock beckoned for Rachel to open it.

She did. She slowly pulled the strings off, and meticulously unfolded the package. Inside was a beautiful dark wooden box. A note was tied to it, on the same paper as the wrapping had been. It read:

_#4_

Rachel didn't like that. It was just like Moriarty to give them not just one challenge, but multiple. She sighed, yanked the note off, and then opened the box. Inside was a picture of an ancient pine tree, surrounded by other, smaller trees with words written on the white frame of the photo.

_Grotim - Greenfold - Sand - River_

Rachel frowned. _What is this? Grotim isn't even a word!_ She thought. She also noted that there were four clues, just like the #4 on the box.

"He's giving us coordinates. He want's us to find something there." Sherlock said. "River. There's a river nearby, even if it's not in the photo. The Greenfold River, perhaps? Maybe the Grotim River? The words might not be in order."

John quickly looked it up on the computer. "There's no Grotim River nearby." He said, and paused as he did the next search. "But... There _is_ a Greenfold River. It's a half hour's drive south of London." John looked up, an expression of surprise crossing his face. "And it's next to a certain Grotim Forest!"

"Perfect!" Sherlock threw on his customary black coat, and strode out the door, followed closely by John and Rachel. They hailed a cab and were off, towards the Greenfold River.

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They arrived shortly. The forest was riddled with paths and trails, and families walked around, getting fresh air away from the big city.

Sherlock strode over to the main square, looking at the note that he'd brought along. "Now all we have is "Sand." It won't be by the river, so it's not the sand there. No no no, it'll be somewhere in the forest, where there aren't trails so no one else will see it, and it's got to have sand there." He flew to an employee in the square who was handing out maps and pamphlets, and ran back, clearly elated. He studied the map for a quick second, then snapped his eyes upward. "There are two sections in the park that are empty of trails enough.

John sighed, and shook his head. "Can't we go about this slower, Sherlock? You're giving me a headache again."

"No!" Sherlock said happily. "I'm finally not bored! Not bored at all!" He spun around and raced away to the employee. "Hello. If I were wanting to see what plants grew in sandy dirt, where would there be the best bet to find sand?" The lie formed quickly, but it was believable.

The employee studied the map. "I'd go over here." He waved his hand around the west side of the map. "The river flooded a couple times over there. Gotta be some sand left over in the forest there."

"Thanks." Sherlock said, then dashed away. John sighed again, and broke into a run after Sherlock. Rachel quickly followed.

**A/N- Well, I hope it's not too bad yet. I was busy today, to be honest, and I just had to get this done. Sorry! Tomorrow I'll still be busy, but I already have a couple good ideas as to what to do, so it'll be better hopefully. I thank those who've commented, (even though that's not too many people! :P ) and I'll ask you to comment once again. Thanks for reading!**

**-Misty**


	22. Chapter 22

**A/N- This chapter includes a cipher, and it's hard to explain on paper. So if it makes absolutely no sense, just roll with me here, because this is an actual way to make a code.**

Chapter 22- Cipher

Rachel and John sprinted after Sherlock. She really didn't understand how John put up with the madman. In fact, she thought she heard a curse fly from John's mouth as they rounded another bend.

"Sherlock! Slow down!" John yelled.

Sherlock didn't need to answer. His continuous running told enough. So they all ran after him, Rachel inwardly cursing, and sprinting with all her might. Finally, Sherlock stopped running when they came to a place where the dirt was sandy. "This is it." He said happily.

"Great!" John snarled. "Next time I'll put you on a leash so you don't run off quite so fast!"

"Come now, John. Speed is of the essence in a time like this." Sherlock bent down and inspected the sandy dirt. He stood back up. "We're going to have to comb this section of the forest until we find it. Thankfully it isn't too big, but we'll still have to split up. I'll take the farthest north, John can take middle, and Rachel, you get far south." He paused. "You all have mobile phones, yes?"

John nodded, as did Rachel. She'd just gotten one.

"Okay, and I believe that we all know each other's numbers?" More nods. "Good. Rachel, you'll be going until you can see the nearest path to this space in the map." Sherlock pointed at the path in question. "Then you need to go back and forth, since you might not see everything in your area. John, go until you can't see me or Rachel, and then you'll know you're in the right place. I'll be somewhere near the river."

Rachel paused. "I'm only walking this. Just to let you know. Running won't be happening."

John smiled. "Same with me. I'm not running."

Sherlock frowned. "Fine. But if I get done before you, I'm covering your distance as well."

And with that, they split up.

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Rachel found her starting spot in about ten minutes. It was a big forest, and even though they had narrowed down the area, it was still a good half hour's walk from end to end. It would take maybe an hour to finish combing her portion of the forest.

Rachel started walking. It was monotonous work, and after the first trip across, she went over to the next spot where she'd need to look. After about three back and forths, she felt ready to give up.

She continued, and finally, finally, there was something. It wasn't the tree, but she knew it was for her. She gulped. It was another wooden box, exactly like the other in every way, except it wasn't wrapped, and the note on it read something different. She leaned in to get a better look at what it read.

_For Rachel_

She opened it cautiously, and peered inside. There lay a plain black phone, it's screen still on, still displaying what contact information of people was saved in it's memory banks. Only one number was there. In the place of an address or other contact information, there was complete gibberish. It read nonsense words, sometimes even random letters that couldn't form words. It total, the nonsense came out like this:

_Shegu Lai Lfii Lm Nert J Dfikirl_

The only thing that made sense was the initials J.M. Rachel could just tap the call button, and it would call the mastermind.

She lifted the phone up, careful not to touch the call button, and found a note underneath it.

_Just in case you change your mind._

She swallowed. This bode no good.

She stood up, and was about to pick up the box and walk away, back to where John and Sherlock were, when that familiar, accursed voice spoke behind her. "Just in case, Rachel."

Rachel turned, and found Moriarty leaning against a tree. "Why would I ever change my mind?" She asked, knowing he wouldn't tell her yet.

"No reason. No reason at all, just wanted to keep in touch." Moriarty smiled that smile again, that smile that made him look like he wanted to bite you. "Have you found it yet? The tree. You forgot to ask why it was important. Too bad, too bad. I guess you'll just have to figure it out when you get there."

"May I ask why it's important now?" Rachel said, picking up the box and putting the phone in it, and turning to leave.

"That would ruin the fun! Come on, Rachel. Think!" Moriarty said, half snarling, half smiling. "Think!"

"I _am_ thinking. And I have no idea." Rachel said angrily, and began to walk away.

"Think, Rachel. Think for once in your life!" Moriarty called after her. "I gave you those skills, and that knowledge. But it's meaningless if you don't use it."

Rachel remained silent and walked away. She looked behind her after a bit, and was happy to find nothing there, no one following her. She kept walking, the box clutched tight. Finally, she got a call from John.

"Found it! Sherlock's found it!" He said excitedly. "You'd better get over here. It's basically in the middle of my route. Just yell when you get near and I'll lead you to it."

"Okay." Rachel said. She didn't feel like telling them about Moriarty right now.

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Rachel found the place easy. It was a small clearing with the huge pine in the photo in the middle. Everything was the same, except a huge down arrow had been painted on the trunk. "He want's us to dig?" She asked incredulously.

"Apparently yes." Sherlock said, then looked up. "Where'd you get that?" He asked, looking at the box.

"Oh, had a little catch up with Moriarty in the forest." Rachel pulled the phone back out of the box, and showed it to the curious detective. "Phone's got nothing on it except one contact, and there's gibberish in all the information except for the initials. He said it was just in case I wanted to change my mind." She looked down at the arrow painted on the tree. "Any luck yet?"

"No, we haven't started digging." Sherlock said. "John!"

"What?" John said, clearly exasperated.

"Start digging!" Sherlock said, but paused when John gave him the death glare. "Please?" He tried.

"Fine!" John said angrily. "You owe me, Sherlock. You owe me good!"

"Yes." Sherlock said, already distant.

John started digging with his hands. Within the minute, he found something. "Here!" He said, showing another note buried in the sandy dirt. "Here it is!"

Sherlock perked up, and Rachel leaned forward as John read out what was on the note. It read simply:

_Think, Rachel, think!_

Rachel sighed. How did she know this would happen? "That's typical. I refuse to think when he tells me to, so he leaves a note as well. And this time I have to, or else we can't go further." She took out the phone, knowing that something about it was special. Then it hit her. _The gibberish in the information! It's a code!_ She looked up. "Do any of you have some paper and a pen?"

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After about five minutes, Rachel had written down a code on the back of the brochure Sherlock had. Rachel had written down everything she needed to figure it out. It read this:

_Just in case you change your mind._

_Just in cae yo hg r md_

"What's this?" John asked. Sherlock was just silently watching.

"I've gotten rid of the repeating letters in the phrase. For example, S had already been used in "Just" so it's no longer needed in "Case." It's a cipher." Rachel explained. "Watch. Now you put the letters left from the phrase in, and add the alphabet to the end, getting rid of the repeating letters, just like with the phrase." She did this.

"See, this is the cipher alphabet. Now you write the corresponding letters from the actual alphabet with the cipher letters. There's your cipher, or nonsense alphabet, and then the actual one compared with it." Rachel finished off. It read fully:

J-A U-B S-C T-D I-E N-F C-G A-H E-I Y-J O-K H-L G-M R-N M-O D-P B-Q F-R K-S L-T P-U Q-V V-W W-X X-Y Z-Z

"I'm just going to take your word for it." John said.

"A cipher. Brilliant." Sherlock took the paper, then looked at the gibberish on the phone. "A coded message! I should have known, it _is_ Moriarty's style, after all. Rachel, would you like to do the honors?"

"For sure." Rachel said, writing the nonsense words down, and decoding it. It was slow work, but finally, Rachel found herself looking at a short, to the point message.

Shegu Lai Lfii Lm Nert J Dfikirl, the gibberish on the phone, had turned into something quite different. It read:

_Climb the tree to find a present._

John and Sherlock read this over her shoulder. "Brilliant." Sherlock whispered. John just sighed and looked at the tree.

"The branches are too close for me or Sherlock to climb it, Rachel. Looks like you'll be the one going up. You okay with that?" John asked, studying the tree.

"Fine with it." Rachel tried her weight on the first branch. It held. She continued up, climbing higher and higher, until she was at the highest branch that wouldn't break under her weight. She looked around, spotting John and Sherlock far below.

"See anything?" John shouted up, cupping his hands around his mouth.

"No, bu-" Rachel's words caught in her throat as she looked down at the branches below. She stifled a scream.

John noticed. "What is it?" He called.

Rachel still couldn't speak. Because right under her dangling feet, camouflaged so well that no one could have seen it from below, even if they'd known where to look, lay a body on the evergreen needles and the long sturdy arms of the pine tree.

**A/N- I hope you could kind of understand the cipher. It's easier to explain in conversation than in writing, so. If you didn't understand it, just PM me and I'll try to clear up the details. Once again, please review or comment! Thanks for reading!**

**-Misty**


	23. Chapter 23

Chapter 23- Starting to

Luckily for her, John knew how to deal with things like this. He called up to her at how he'd faced this kind of thing before, and how getting panicky didn't help matters too much. "Breath slowly, and remember, it's dead. It won't attack you." He called up, hands cupped around his mouth. "Now, I want you to climb down the other side of the tree, so you don't have to go near the body."

"Okay!" Rachel shouted back. She felt faint. It wasn't that she was afraid of dead bodies, it was just that the surprise at Moriarty's present had left her thoroughly shocked.

She made it down without incident. Rachel looked over a Sherlock, who hadn't uttered a word, or helped her in anyway. He was busy calling someone. She rolled her eyes. Typical.

"Lestrade?" Sherlock asked as the phone picked up.

"What is it, Sherlock?" Lestrade was obviously in a hurry today.

"Found you a little present. Do come at once. Grotim Forest next to Greenfold River. John will meet you in the main square and lead you back here." Sherlock said. John mouthed a question of why he had to, and Sherlock dismissed it, pointing at the direction of the square. John picked up a pebble and lobbed it at Sherlock, making his frustration clear. Sherlock smirked, easily avoiding the projectile, and turned back to the phone.

"-very busy, Sherlock. You sure it can't wait?" Lestrade finished off, unaware that his entire speech had been ignored.

"Completely sure, detective inspector." Sherlock smirked again. "Get here as fast as you can. And you might want to bring a ladder." Then he hung up.

"Okay, what do we do now?" Rachel hardly dared ask, imagining what Sherlock might do to a dead body if he could.

"Seeing as I'm too large to climb the tree and inspect the body, and you don't want to get near it, we are in an unfortunate situation that calls for waiting." Sherlock said, slumping against a tree and sliding to the ground to look up at the sky. "Why is there always waiting?" Sherlock muttered.

"Waiting is a part of life, Sherlock. You're going to have to accept it." Rachel studied her nails as she leaned against another tree. "You sure John will be okay after lobbing a pebble at your head?"

"Oh please, John's thrown far worse things. I still remember the antique china of Mycroft's that he threw at me. Mycroft approved of the rash action, and I was forced to retreat to the car." Sherlock smiled at the memory.

"Are you sure you didn't just run away?" Rachel asked innocently, but smiled wickedly. "I mean, you did get some china thrown at you, after all. I wouldn't be surprised if most people ran to their cars and drove away." She stopped, studying him. "Why were they both mad at you, anyway?"

"I had to fake my death, in order to save the people I cared about. I had to remain 'dead' for a good time. When I revealed myself, finally, after so much time of planning, they were simply enraged. Mycroft was all 'Why didn't you let me in on this?' and John's feelings were basically 'How could you not include me in something so amazing?'. Of course, both never admitted to this, they wanted more noble reasons, but I knew what they meant. Anyway, John got so angry he chucked the china at me, and Mycroft was so angry he approved."

Sherlock smirked. Rachel tried hard not to smile, but finally she gave in and laughed. "That sounds like quite a tale. You should tell me it sometime."

"I'm not sure you want to hear it. It has to do with Moriarty, of course." Sherlock said quietly. "I'll give you the short version. Moriarty made the world think I was a fake, then met me on the roof of the morgue I often work in."

Rachel listened intently. Sherlock continued. "He told me that I had to jump off and commit suicide, or else my three friends, John, Mrs. Hudson, and Lestrade, would be assassinated. So I did." He paused. "In a sense. I made it look like I had, and then bore with it, and then came back out."

Rachel and Sherlock both stopped as they heard John call for them. "Here!" Rachel yelled.

Soon, a team of detectives had filed into the clearing, taking note of everything except the tree and it's contents. "Lestrade, why did you bring Anderson?" Sherlock asked, clearly peeved.

"Standard procedure, sorry Sherlock." Lestrade apologized, then looked at Rachel. "Who's she?" He asked, clearly knowing that Sherlock was up to something bigger than just a murder.

"A client." Sherlock smiled, and strode away, Rachel following. He stopped when he reached the middle of the crowd of police. "Officers! If you had the slightest deductive skills, you would have realised that no one was murdered here, exactly." Sherlock said boredly. "However, there _is_ a body here. Since none of you have the brains to find it, I will have to show you myself. He stood up tall, dramatically twirling on hand and clutching the branch of the tree that they knew the body was on.

Rachel took a step back, knowing what was coming, and fully enjoying it already.

Sherlock yanked hard on the branch, and stepped backward as the dead body fell down onto the ground. Several policemen gasped, and a few turned away from the sight. Sherlock only smiled, and glanced over at Rachel, who was smiling too.

Anderson strode up. "What is it with you, freak?" He asked angrily. "Disturbing a dead body at the scene of the crime!"

"Actually Anderson, you may note he wasn't killed here, and his body placement had been placed with great care, so it wouldn't matter either way if the body was shoved down a few feet or not." Sherlock smiled, glad to annoy the man.

Rachel beamed, that was, until Anderson saw her, and snarled. "What? You're another freak too?"

"Yes I am." She said proudly, and decided to act as Sherlock had. "By the way, Anderson, how has your anger management been going?"

Anderson opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out. He stormed off angrily, muttering about amateurs and idiots.

Rachel smiled, and Sherlock did likewise. They both bent over the body, ready to inspect it, when Rachel's phone went off, the one that Moriarty had given her. She timidly took it out, finding a text from a certain "JM."

_Enjoying yourself already? -JM_

Rachel knew he was quoting their first real lesson, when he'd asked her the same question. She smiled. This game might actually be fun. She might not be bored anymore. She let Sherlock read it, before responding in the way that she knew Moriarty expected.

_Starting to. -RH_

**A/N- I hope to start picking things up in the next chapters. That's one of the problems with my writing, I find it very slow. But anyway, hope you've enjoyed, as always! And again, I will ask you to review or comment! Critics are welcome! Just in case you wanted to know, Rachel and Moriarty are quoting the ending words they say in chapter 6, when they begin their first lesson.**

**-Misty**


	24. Chapter 24

Chapter 24- Henry Goutrad

_Male, 37 years old. Name is Henry Goutrad, divorced and she took the kids. Visits every weekend, wishes it would be more often. Businessman, most likely in car parts. Been to America twice this month for company that's going bust in Detroit, Michigan. Worried about future, stress eating recently. Knows that what he leaves his kids won't be enough, so started another company, this time illegal. Distributes guns to local gangs and criminals for more cash than his car parts got him. Big business. But he couldn't keep up, couldn't keep up with the criminal world, and all of a sudden he found himself working for a mastermind that was too smart for him. He wanted a way out. There was none. Scratch earlier statement, company in America has already gone bust. Visited America to try to escape and get protection. Obviously didn't work. Came back trying to warn someone, silenced. How he ended up in a tree is unknown for now._

Rachel didn't even wonder how she knew this. She just did. Perhaps it was how she noted the man had his watch set to a different time zone, or how his brief case had a car parts sticker on it.

Anderson walked up. "If the Freaks don't mind, the _real_ detectives will have a turn now."

"Oh, look, Anderson's given you a nickname too!" Sherlock said cutely, just to annoy Anderson. "And really, Anderson, if you call us both Freak, then how will we know which person you're talking to?"

Anderson stormed over to the body and began the standard procedure. Having one Freak was bad enough, let alone having two.

Sherlock sighed. "Anderson, you could've gotten all the relevant information by now if you simply observed." He grinned when Anderson shot him a death glare.

"Is your sole purpose in life to torment me?" Anderson hissed angrily. "Honestly! Is it?"

"It appears so." Rachel said, grinning when Anderson realized he was not only out witted, but outnumbered as well. He left angrily, seeing that the two Freaks wouldn't have been stopping any time soon.

John walked up. "Lestrade says that this guy had no record of criminal activity, and that the only thing to take note of was that he was divorced." He flipped through some papers as he walked towards them.

"John, we already figured all that out." Sherlock sighed, turning back to the dead body, and speaking to it, like it was a better listener. "Now we only have to ask why you're dead. Sure, you were in on some crimes, but not enough to get killed. Why?" He poked the body's coat away to see the wallet. It was old and wet. "He's been in the river, but a long time has passed, since his clothes are dry!" Sherlock smiled at the news. It meant a harder case to solve, and a sneakier criminal to stop.

Rachel looked at the man's coat pocket. There was a note in it, and it was completely untouched by any water. She poked Sherlock. "Sherlock, if he was in the river, then that note was put in afterward." She pointed at the note.

Rachel pulled the note out. The familiar graceful letters etched on the paper were the one's she'd dreaded. Moriarty had left them the next clue. She read it.

_#3_

_221B-Baker-Street_

Rachel sighed. Of course. Back to where they began. She handed it to Sherlock, who read it and crumpled it up. "Shouldn't we give that to the police?" She asked quietly, so no one else could hear.

"Of course not, then they'd assume that I was in on the criminal activity." Sherlock stalked out of the clearing, John and Rachel following.

_Why? Why was he killed?_ Rachel's mind rocketed off without her as she walked back to the square, where they'd call a cab to pick them up. _What benefits are there for his death: Silence. Who benefits: The criminal you were dealing with. Criminal was obviously Moriarty, but not directly. Probably Kenny, more likely an even lower ranked servant. Why did Moriarty need your silence? What was so important that he couldn't risk losing it?_

The answer struck Rachel as they were walking into the square. She _remembered_. She stopped walking and tugged on John's hand. "John, I know why he died!"

John looked at her, shocked. "Well then," He asked, "why?"

"He knew about me! My first lesson with Moriarty, we were deducing people, and _he was the first person I deduced!_ That's why Moriarty sent me the text with the quote from that lesson! Because that lesson mattered!" She could barely contain her excitement.

Sherlock had stopped and listened. "So he was giving you a clue, one that you didn't understand until now. And the clues were hidden in normal conversation. That _is_ Moriarty's style, I must say." He turned and continued walking toward the cab waiting for them. ""Coming? No doubt Moriarty won't take kindly to us being late."

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The ride felt like eternity. Rachel just wanted to get there already. She didn't care if it was dangerous. At least it wasn't boring! Sherlock looked equally as impatient, and John, who had the misfortune to sit in between them, looked like he really didn't want to go home and meet an evil mastermind right now. Neither Rachel nor Sherlock cared, however.

The taxi pulled up, they paid him, and hopped out. Rachel and Sherlock both dashed to the door, looking for signs of forced entry. There were none, so Moriarty had probably just slipped inside when no one had been looking.

John sighed, and followed them as they ran up the stairs, and listened intently at the door to 221B. There was no sound, but they knew he was still in there. Just waiting to greet them.

Once John caught up, Sherlock opened the door slowly, and went inside. Rachel came after, followed by John. They entered almost as one, and Sherlock smiled when he saw the room.

It wasn't a box or a letter this time. No, this time, Moriarty sat in John's favorite chair, ready to greet them himself.

**A/N- Hey guys! I'm going to warn you, I'll be busy the next few days, so I'm unsure whether I'll get a chapter out or not. Sorry if the wait is annoying. Please, comment and review! Criticism welcome!**

**-Misty**


	25. Chapter 25

**A/N- A new reader guessed the answer to my riddle in Chapter 15. Got the quote, even if he made a few other connections I didn't mean! Congrats to Justine-Bro, who is now labeled as awesome!**

Chapter 25- Visit

Moriarty sat in the chair, one leg crossed over the other. He held a package in his lap. "Are you going to shoot me, Doctor Watson?" He asked, almost talking to himself.

John had, indeed, taken out his gun, which he always kept with him, (for obvious reasons.) "Why are you here?" He asked edgily.

Sherlock sighed. He pushed the gun John was aiming down gently, and said simply, "John, please. Let's not be rude to our guest." He walked with that grace that Rachel had observed at the pool, and sat down in his chair.

John sighed, and leaned against the wall, obviously tired of the entire case.

"I'm glad to see you're well Rachel. After all, you did just come face to face with a dead man." Moriarty's cold eyes stared into her.

"It surprised me, but not enough to keep me from wondering. Why did you arrange for Henry to die?" Rachel leaned against the door frame, copying John. "After all, he was doing you a good service."

"Henry, unfortunately, started questioning my tactics. He started to wonder why I needed those guns he sold me, why I needed the instruments of death that earned him his living. And then, of course, he started searching for a way out. It was pitiful, really. Quite easy to silence an already doomed voice." Moriarty inspected his nails, as if killing someone was nothing, really. "I will tell you this: There is no mystery behind his death, I just wanted to get a point across."

"And that point is?" Sherlock asked, clearly disheartened that there wouldn't be need for snooping around the crime scene in the forest.

"Don't test me." Moriarty said this to Sherlock, but his eyes remained fixed on Rachel, and she knew he was talking to her. "Or else."

"Or else what?" Rachel couldn't help but ask.

"Rachel, you of all people know what I might do." Moriarty turned, so he was facing all of them, not just Rachel. "I'll _burn_ you."

Rachel cut to the chase. "What are you here for, Moriarty? I know it wasn't just to give us a friendly warning." She snarled the last part.

"Oh Rachel. If only you knew." Moriarty smiled the vampire smile. "I came here to give you a present." He patted the package on his lap.

"Like the last present?" John asked, reminding everyone that he was still in the room. "Like the dead man in the pine tree?"

Moriarty frowned, as if upset by a naughty child. "No. Don't be obvious. I came here to give you this." He held out the package, which looked the same as all the others, then stood. He brushed his jacket off, and strode to the door, and handed the package to Rachel.

Rachel took it silently, watching Moriarty, waiting for him to leave.

Moriarty sighed, and began to walk out, but paused a moment before he exited completely. "If you ever change your mind, Rachel. Just give me a call." And with that, he descended the stairs, lightly and gracefully.

Rachel watched him go, just to make sure he was really gone. When she was sure he'd left, she sighed in relief and sank onto the floor. She looked at Sherlock, who was waiting to see the package, then at John, who seemed ready to just leave, and never be bothered by maniacs ever again.

There was a long, relief filled pause, broken only by Rachel's steady breath and Sherlock's footsteps as he walked around. Sherlock broke the silence first. "Well? Are you going to open it?"

Rachel sighed. Just like Sherlock to speed right on when everyone else needed a break. She nodded, and ripped the paper wrapping off. The same kind of wood box lay beneath, just like all the others.

Inside was a picture of an alley, much like the ones Rachel had gone through to escape Moriarty. It was dingy, not well kept, and wet and dirty, and cold looking. However, despite the decor, the alley was actually quite spacious, a perfect place for a meeting. On the bottom of the picture, where the white border was, two words were written in the graceful handwriting that Rachel had grown to hate.

_#2_

_Fairly - Honest'_

_What was this?_ Rachel thought. _Fairly Honest? What's that supposed to mean? And why was there an apostrophe just randomly there?_

As she thought this, she handed it to Sherlock, who quickly took it. He flew to the table, taking a pen from the mess of papers there, and quickly began writing down who knew what.

"What are you doing?" Asked Rachel tiredly. She could really care less what "Fairly Honest'" meant, and she definitely didn't want to decode it right now.

Sherlock kept writing, not glancing up, and not responding. John tapped his shoulder, trying to get him to respond, but to no avail. John and Rachel looked at each other, not knowing how to get the consulting detective to pay any attention to the real world. Rachel looked over his shoulder, to find the words had been rearranged, rematched, the letters taken out and replacing one another. Most of it looked like nonsense.

Rachel sighed, and John sat down. They waited for a few minutes until Sherlock looked back up. "It's so obvious!"

"What?" Asked John angrily. "What is so obvious?"

"Look!" Sherlock stuck the paper he'd been writing on into John's face. Many completely nonsensical words were scrawled randomly, but one was circled vigorously, showing it's importance.

_Hontely's Fair_

"What is this?" John asked, clearly not understanding. "You just rearranged the letters to make some name that probably doesn't exist, and to say that there's a fair nearby."

"Yes, but I know for a fact that a fair _is_ nearby. And it's run by a certain Mr. Hontely. So the alley we're trying to find..." Sherlock trailed off.

Rachel finished it for him. "The alley we're trying to find is somewhere in the vicinity of the fair."

"Exactly. To be honest, I thought Moriarty would make it a _bit_ harder to figure out." Sherlock smirked, and flew out the door, leaving Rachel and John to follow. Both sighed, thinking about how great it would be to have a leash, so Sherlock couldn't run off without them.

**A/N- I realize that my riddles aren't nearly as good as those in the show, so I'll give a preemptive sorry. There's a lot less mystery in this FanFiction than what I'd like, but I'll still try my best. I've been a bit preoccupied recently, since I had guests over for a few days. But I'm free now, and hoping to get this FanFiction rolling again!**

**-Misty**


	26. Chapter 26

Chapter 26- Richard Brooks

The trio raced down the stairs of 221B. Sherlock was still way ahead, much to John and Rachel's annoyance. "Sherlock, slow down!" John yelled as the detective rocketed out the door.

"Come on, John! You know I don't slow down on a case!" Sherlock yelled to them before turning around and running.

John sighed, and slowed to a walk. He really didn't need to be getting even more sore. The last case they'd had, John had gotten at least seven bruises.

Rachel slowed down too. "How is he still alive if he doesn't eat, sleep, or stop while on a case?" She asked in amazement.

"Honestly, I don't know." John shook his head.

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They took a cab, and arrived at the fair in roughly twenty minutes. While John payed the driver, Rachel got out and stood. They were in the outskirts of London, where there was enough room for the traveling fair to set up. A juggler was entertaining a crowd of families, and Rachel thought she saw a fire breather. There were enough rickety rides for someone to go on all day.

Sherlock was already out of the cab, surveying the scene. After John was done paying the cabby, he started making plans. "Alright. John, you go to the left side of the area, look for any alleys you can find, and Rachel, you take the right for now. I'll take the far side, since there obviously aren't any alleys on this side of the fair. Okay?" He spoke rapidly, making Rachel pause a bit to understand.

"Fine." Rachel sighed. She'd thought Moriarty would be a little more clever than this. She went over to the right, thinking about the note. _Fairly Honest'. Something didn't add up._

After maybe eight minutes of searching, Rachel was coming to the end of her side of the fair. Sherlock was done, and striding next to her, and John was still searching over to their right. A thought struck Rachel. "We're looking in the wrong place!" She blurted out.

Sherlock raised an eyebrow, clearly waiting for her explanation. Rachel continued. "He's been trying to tell us that Mr. Hontely is 'Fairly Honest'! Hontely knows something, and more importantly, he knows where the alley is! Moriarty wasn't talking about the fair, not really. He's directing us to the owner!"

"Brilliant." Sherlock said quietly, then got louder as his pace picked up to a run. "Come on! We have to get John!"

Rachel ran after him. They found John quickly, since he'd been headed their way anyway. Rachel explained the situation, and John was quick to catch on. They raced to the employee's area in the fair. All the performers were taking breaks, and practicing their routines. Rachel could tell they were unwelcome in the employee's only area, but she didn't care. "We need to speak with Mr. Hontely." She said, trying to sound formal.

"Not here right now." A juggler said coldly. He turned back to juggling as soon as he'd answered the question.

"Does it make a difference if we told you it's Rachel, John, and Sherlock who're asking?" Rachel tried.

"As a matter of fact, it does." The juggler said, clearly surprised that the people his boss wanted to talk with were such an array of strangers. He gestured to an off colored tent to their left. "Right in there."

"Okay." Rachel sighed inwardly with relief. She looked over at the blogger detectives, who were close behind her. "Ready?"

"Yah." John said. Sherlock was silent, as if answering was below him. Rachel sighed, and walked into the tent.

It was well lit in the tent, because of a cheap battery powered lantern. There was a bench, and a couple chairs strewn randomly. It wasn't a pleasant place, but if you were only there for one day, it would do. In one of the chairs sat a chubby man with a red face. Rachel supposed he must be Mr. Hontely.

"Mr. Hontely. We've come to discuss with you." She began politely. "It's come to our attention that you know something, something important."

Mr. Hontely blinked, and waved a hand for them to leave. "I'm not performing right now. Go bother someone else." He said harshly.

John stepped up to the man. "We're not leaving. Not until you tell us why you're only 'Fairly Honest'. And we can wait as long as you can, trust me." John put steel in his voice.

"'Fairly honest?' What?" Hontely sounded generally unknowing. "What do you want? Money?"

"Is there anything you've lied about recently? Anything?" John ignored the other man's questions and continued asking his own. "Any secrets you've been keeping?"

"Alright! I admit, I pickpocketed you!" Hontely barked suddenly. He held out a wallet that was clearly not his own. "Will you go now?"

"Umm..." John was uncertain. He took the wallet hesitantly, and furrowed his brow. "That's not why we're here. We're here because you're keeping a secret which is important to our case." John looked inside the wallet to see whose it was. Sure enough, it was his. "Hey!" He said. "This dirty thief stole my wallet!"

"I gave it back!" Hontely whined.

"Yah! Minus about forty pounds!" John said angrily, looking about ready to get in a fight.

Sherlock stepped in gracefully. "John, stop." He said, then dragged both John and Rachel to the other side of the tent. "It's obvious, isn't it?" He whispered. "Hontely's been lied to. He's 'fairly honest' because he's carrying on the lie, but doesn't know he is." Sherlock turned back to Hontely. "Is there anything important that's happened recently?"

"We got a new horse for a ride," Hontely said, finally seeming to grasp that cooperating would be best. "There's financial stuff, the rides, the families. Lots of stuff happen here."

"Something dangerous!" Sherlock said, deciding to get the point across quickly. "Something that could kill someone!"

Hontely was quiet. "There was one thing." He said slowly, as if trying to recall something distant. "We found a body in a ditch a bit ago. But they told us that it was an accident. Nothing more. Guy tripped, and fell." He looked up angrily. "Will you go now?"

"Yah, after one more question." Sherlock turned to go. "Who decided it was an accident?"

"Some guy named Richard! He's new here, you know. Can't do much, but still." Hontely said, clearly wanting to get rid of them.

Sherlock froze. "Last name." His voice was like rock.

"Brooks." Hontely said, not understanding the importance of this. "His name is Richard Brooks."

**A/N- Hi again! I'd like to say here, I'm kind of inventing this as I go, so I have no idea how I'll end it, or anything. Still, that's what keeps it exciting! This idea just popped into my head, so I'll try it. As always, review and/or comment, and I'll tell you again that critics are welcomed. Have a good time reading!**

**-Misty**


	27. Chapter 27

Chapter 27- Kenny

They ran out of the tent, Sherlock looking about wildly. "The juggler! The one that said it mattered what our names were! It's Moriarty!"

John swore loudly, drawing the attention of the other performers. "How could we not notice?"

Rachel frowned. "That wasn't Moriarty. I've seen his face every day for over two years. I'd know if it were him." She furrowed her brow as she thought. "It was Kenny!"

Sherlock began pacing, and John looked at her. "Kenny?" He asked.

"Kenny! Moriarty's right hand man! That was him! I should have known, but he had added some changes that threw me off track. That's why he was the one to let us in. He needed us to talk to Hontely, and find out about the body. He needed us to know he was involved." Rachel talked quickly. "He might still be here! Let's go!"

She sprinted off, Sherlock happily following, and John cursed something about leashes again.

Rachel thought she saw a juggler when she rounded a tent, but the entertainer kept losing her in the crowd. Time and time again she came close enough to touch him, only for him to dodge off to the side where he lost her again. She was growing frustrated.

Sherlock caught up to her. "Where?" His question was brief.

"Keeps losing us in the crowd. He'll be near the edge of the fair by now." Rachel looked around for any clue about where he'd gone.

"You simply don't observe, do you Rachel?" Sherlock smiled an annoying smile. "The ground here is fairly soft. There are imprints of the shoes of people who've passed by." He pointed to two particularly big footprints. "Only a clown or another performer would wear big shoes like that. We've got our juggler."

And they were off again. After a while, Rachel caught sight of Kenny. She kept gaining over the minutes in the chase, barely able to breath but not willing to stop. She kept running, running and running, until she was just behind him.

Rachel jumped, trying to gain the last distance and grab him. But just as she did, he turned, around the corner of a tent, and was gone. She cursed. She'd let him get away. She got back up and walked around the corner stormily, believing the chase was over and Kenny had gotten away, when she came face to face with him.

Rachel smiled. Because right behind him was Sherlock, who'd cut through several tents to catch up and intercept him, holding a gun to the back of his head.

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They brought Kenny away from the fair, from all the prying eyes that might think that _they_ were the criminals. Sherlock found a nice quiet place behind a building, where no one looked. Rachel called John, informing them of their location.

John caught up within the minute. "So glad you could join us, John." Sherlock said simply, as if holding someone at gunpoint was an everyday ordeal.

John sighed, knowing that trying to ask what they were doing would only make things worse. He allowed himself one question though, knowing that Sherlock would ridicule him anyway. "That's the guy? Kenny?"

Kenny flinched at his name. Sherlock smiled, glad to see their bad guy was alarmed already. "Obviously. Why else would I be pointing my gun at him?" He shoved the gun nearer to Kenny's neck, as if to prove the point.

John sighed, and went to stand in front of the man, who was now kneeling, just as Sherlock had commanded. "Okay, _Richard Brooks._ May I ask why Moriarty has dealings with a corpse found in a ditch by a _traveling fair?_" John asked incredulously. He bent down so he could see Kenny better. "And why he sent you?"

Kenny looked around nervously. Sweat dripped from his forehead. "The body, it's a client of his. They were going to warn someone, about something, I don't know. He always sends me to clear this stuff up!" Kenny shook slightly, fearful eyes casting about darkly.

Rachel leaned against the building, spiteful. "Who was the dead man going to warn?"

"I don't know!" Kenny snarled. "Do you think he trusts me with anything? I'm just _one_ of his employees! There are a thousand at least!"

Rachel remained silent, watching Kenny out of the corner of her eye. "You're lying."

"What?" Kenny looked shocked.

"Do you honestly think that I can't tell? I saw your face almost every day! Always, always you were the person that took me to my lessons, and you don't think I've learned to read your emotions, even when you cover them up?" Rachel smiled. "You're not really scared. You're faking. You think we'll pity you."

Kenny stopped shaking. He stopped breathing hard and looking like he would panic. Instead, an air of anger welled up around him. He looked at Rachel. "Well played."

Rachel nodded. Sherlock smiled, because the case had just gotten more interesting. "If I may." He handed the gun to John, who took it, and pocketed it, but kept ready to get it back out. "Now may I ask you again, who was the client?"

"Not telling." Kenny stood up, making John reach for the gun again. Kenny wore jeans, a plain T-shirt, much unlike the Kenny Rachel was used to. Still, she had no doubt he was capable of the same horrors.

Sherlock sighed. "John." The meaning was clear, and John drew his gun again.

"Wait." Rachel smiled, and walked to face Kenny. "I say we leave him. He's already given away enough. Moriarty won't want him anymore. Even if he volunteers for protective custody, or gets a new identity, he won't last a month."

Kenny visibly paled. John looked awestruck that Rachel would do something so devious and wicked. And Sherlock just smiled.

"Fine!" Kenny barked angrily, finally giving in. "Fine! The name was Mike Roudale. He was just another client, but he overheard a conversation of Moriarty's. He learned about the meeting place that you guys are trying to find. He was going to warn you, since he's not as bad as Moriarty's other clients."

"Warn us about what?" John tightened his grip on the gun.

Kenny scoffed. "I don't know." He kicked a stone. "Even I don't know all of Moriarty's workings. He'd have given someone completely different that information."

Rachel studied him, and knew he wasn't lying. "He's not lying. Come on guys." She gestured for John and Sherlock to follow, walking away from Kenny.

"What are you doing?" Kenny asked suddenly, fear coming into his voice.

"Leaving you." Rachel said cruelly as she walked away. She didn't even turn around to speak to him. "After all, I never promised I wouldn't."

John looked at Rachel questioningly. She smiled, making it clear that she wouldn't change her mind on this issue. John sighed, and continued to walk away, wishing that this case had never come up.

**A/N- Hi again, guys. I'm getting some serious writers block with this story right now, but don't worry, I'll persevere. I will ask you again to comment and/or review, and I will assure you that criticism is welcome. Besides that, there's not much else to say! Anyway, have a good time reading!**

**-Misty**


	28. Chapter 28

Chapter 28- The Morgue

They walked back to the car. Sherlock directed the cabby to take them to the morgue, where he knew the body would be. Rachel had never visited the morgue before. She was curious, that was for sure.

"How many bodies are usually at the morgue?" Rachel asked.

"Depends on how many murderers are out on the streets." Was Sherlock's snide response.

Rachel sighed, and directed herself to another line of questioning. "What are we going to look for when we find the body?"

John spoke up. "Probably the dirt on his shoes will be one thing. We've done that before with footprints, so it shouldn't be too hard. Also, where he's found could make a huge difference."

"Correct, John. Except for the entire second half of what you just said. Of course where he's found won't make a difference! Honestly, do you think Moriarty's just going to leave a dead body where he's going to be working in the future? No, so he was obviously placed there after being killed." Sherlock said, disappointed that John hadn't seen the obvious. "Anyway, there are other, more subtle signs. For instance, whether there's anything on his clothes could tell us if there's plant life nearby, etc, etc."

Rachel stopped herself from asking more questions. She looked out the window, and watched the countryside slide by. Before she knew it, they were back in the throng of London, and pulling up to the morgue.

Sherlock payed the cabby this time, then climbed out quickly, striding over to the morgue's doors, and entering. Rachel could barely keep up with the detective as he walked to the employee's break room. _Why are we going here?_ Rachel thought.

Sherlock strode in. "Hello, Molly! I need some help getting to a dead man for a case again. Would you mind?"

Rachel entered, followed by John. The lady named Molly was a shy dark hair person, who looked about to decline Sherlock's request for access when he spoke up again.

"You're wearing a different kind of lipstick today," Sherlock said. "It flatters you quite nicely."

Rachel smiled. Leave it to Sherlock to flatter someone just to see a dead body. Molly looked at him condescendingly. "I know you only notice that because you're trying to get me to let you." She said, making it clear that complements didn't always work.

Sherlock frowned, clearly annoyed at not being able to see the body. Molly sighed. "If you leave me alone, I'll let you see it. What's the name?"

"Mike Roudale." Sherlock smiled, brightening because he'd gotten what he wanted. Molly sighed, and led the three to the inner rooms of the morgue, where she showed them a body.

"There." Molly said tiredly. "Now if you'd excuse me, I have a cup of coffee waiting for me, and I really need it."

"Why?" Rachel asked, wondering why anyone needed coffee this late in the day.

"Oh, the morgue's been incredibly busy lately." Molly yawned, then looked back at Rachel. "Hang on, Sherlock you've brought a kid in here?"

"As a matter of fact, she is a client." Sherlock said. "And she's staying. She won't mess anything up, don't worry."

Molly heaved another deep sigh, and turned and left, knowing that arguing with Sherlock Holmes was something she would never win.

"Alright, let's get on with it." John said, looking almost as tired as Molly.

They all gathered around the corpse. John started at the feet, while Sherlock surveyed the body. Rachel just stood there. She didn't know what to look for, let alone look for it on a dead body.

"Small imprints on the feet suggest he was walking on gravel and some got into his shoes." John said, clearly not knowing what to make of it.

"Great John. All of London has a few loose stones. That did absolutely nothing to narrow it down." Sherlock bent down to inspect the man closer. "The bruises all over his body are made from a tumble into the ditch, but that wasn't what killed him." He gestured to a small hole near the man's chest. "They injected him with a poison, then wiped the wound, and made sure he fell where there were plenty of sticks to jab at him as well. Another untraceable poison, no doubt. Still doesn't help us."

Rachel furrowed her brow. "Look's like he covered his tracks. He's not going to make this easy."

And so, they began to work. John started on the arms, and Sherlock studied the dead man's head, trying to find signs of dirt or leaves in his hair that might have been missed. Rachel just scanned him, not sure how to be of use. She glanced at her watch. It was getting late, almost 9:00 PM. She sighed. Tonight was going to be a long night.

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It was midnight, and still nothing. Rachel had taken a seat, and was resting her eyes. Sherlock still hovered over the body, and John was sitting on the floor with his back against the wall, since Rachel had taken the only chair.

Moriarty had completely covered his tracks. There was no dirt, plants, or stones anywhere. The poison was untraceable, and the area that it had been injected into had been wiped, and so was no use to them either. After a dozen different tests, and two dozen different ideas, all they'd come up with was dead ends. No fingerprints, dirt, plants, stones, poisons, DNA, or wounds that suggested foul play. But even though they couldn't prove it, everyone knew he'd been murdered, and that the dead body held the secret to Moriarty's game.

Rachel felt her phone vibrate. She took it out, to find another text from Moriarty.

_Find anything yet? -JM_

Rachel sighed, and told Sherlock what the text read. "He's asking us if we've found anything yet." She sighed. "I suppose there is _one_ way to keep going with this."

Sherlock looked up from the corpse. "What way is that?"

"Ask for a clue." Rachel said sourly, fully not wanting to ask, but knowing otherwise they'd be dead in the water. She typed for a moment, then sent the text.

_Mike's being uncooperative. Give us a hint please? -RH_

It took a few minutes for the response to come. Moriarty's answer had been even more cryptic than before.

_Are you really so prone to believe acting? Because he hadn't rehearsed once. -JM_

Rachel sighed. This was a jab at her from when she'd jumped from Moriarty's mansion. She thought for a second, then came up with an answer. "The owner of the fair was lying! Moriarty says here about acting, which means that Hontely was lying completely! Come on, we don't know when that fair goes to it's next site!" Rachel said, and raced out the door. John followed, and Sherlock, who'd been pacing for more than three hours, walked to the door slowly. Rachel smirked. Maybe the detective didn't want to sleep during a case, but it looked like he still had to.

**A/N- I'm getting some crazy writer's block on this story, so it might take a bit to get the chapters out. I also have to tell you that I'll be going to Mackinac Island for a few days as a vacation, and so won't be writing during that time. I'm really excited for my story though! Can't wait to see some sights, and come back and write better because of it. As always, review and comment, and please, please please please, criticize me! Constructive criticism is everything! Keep reading!**

**-Misty**


	29. Chapter 29

Chapter 29- Back to the Fair

Another cab ride later, and John was complaining that he was almost out of money to pay the cabbies they kept needing. Sherlock shushed him, and practically dragged him back to the fair, where Hontely would hopefully still be. Rachel didn't need dragging, in fact, she was helping Sherlock shepherd John to the tent where Hontely had last been.

Rachel burst in, ignoring the complaints of the performers, to find a startled Mr. Hontely still sitting exactly where he had been when they'd left. "What?" He asked angrily. "What is it now? I haven't pickpocketed any of you!"

Rachel frowned. "We're here about Moriarty. We know you're hiding something."

Hontely laughed. "That's the poorest excuse for trying to get a lost wallet yet!"

John and Sherlock stood near the exit of the tent. Hontely wouldn't be leaving if they didn't want him to. "Well," Sherlock spoke slowly. "If it's really a wallet thief we're talking about, why is it Moriarty recruited you? He needed somebody's credit card?" He asked dryly. "No. You know the location we're seeking. You just need some incentive."

Hontely gulped, and John pulled out the gun which had become his best friend since he'd begun cases with Sherlock Holmes. John didn't aim. In fact, he kept the gun half inside his pocket, but enough so they could all see it.

"Now." Sherlock's voice said calmly, but underneath it, Rachel could tell his patience was drawing thin. He was tired of waiting. He wanted to finish the game. "I'm going to ask one more time." He spoke slowly, as if Hontely didn't have the capacity to understand English. "Where is the alley? We know you kept the secret of poor Mike's death away from the police. Those could be serious charges if rumors ever got out." His voice stretched thin here, making him just as menacing as Moriarty. "Of course I could keep silent, if you will let us know a simple location."

Mike looked back and forth between Sherlock and the gun John was holding. Rachel knew that if she was faced with the same choice, she would've chosen the gun. "NorthBridge Road, take a left onto Aims Street, the first right." His voice shook. "Now please, can I go?" He seemed to have forgotten that it was _they_ who would be going.

"Yes." Sherlock smirked, clearly happy his skills at interrogation were quite great.

Hontely rushed through to the exit, and John coughed slightly. "Ahem." He held out a hand.

Hontely blushed, and gave John his wallet back, before skittering out of the tent as fast as his portly legs could take him.

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Another cab ride, another complaining John about how very expensive cabbies were nowadays. Another argument between Sherlock and John about whether walking or cabs were the way to travel. Rachel smiled. The chaos seemed to have sorted itself into order, a schedule that they all ran by. She liked it. Clue, investigate, cab ride, argument, second clue, chase, catch the criminal. Then it started back up, the criminal giving them another clue to investigate, that clue leading them somewhere in a cab ride, Sherlock and John arguing about it somehow, and then a chase or a gun fight, and it started back up.

John had gone quiet with anger from Sherlock's deductions on how his career as a doctor was likely to unfold the way he wanted it to. Sherlock was walking slightly away from John, clearly giving him time to simmer, so as he wouldn't explode the next time he said something. "Right here." Sherlock pointed at the alley in front of them.

"Alright." Rachel studied the alley. Same as in the photo. Dark, mysterious. Dingy, with wet grime on the floor, glistening in the lamplight. It was cold out already, and the alley seemed to be even colder than the night air already surrounding them. Rachel shivered as she noted this. The alley was spacious, with many nooks and crannies to hide in. Rachel had a feeling that some of the nooks already had some of Moriarty's men hiding in them.

"Do we just..." John said, trailing off and gesturing at the alley. "... go in?"

Sherlock smirked, the way he always did that made you want to wipe the smile right off his face. "What else would we do, John? A dangerous, dark place, where no one will hear you scream. Not to mention a dozen gangs could be hiding in there, and three dozen snipers trained on it as we speak. And, that isn't considering that there may be a bomb planted in the alley, or someone with a bomb on them will soon show up. And besides, someone's already died trying to warn us about something in there." He paused. "What else would we do..." He said, mostly to himself, before dashing into the dark alley.

"Sherlock!" John snarled as his best friends lept into the shadows as if he were made for them. "Could we at least get a flashlight?"

"Nope!" Sherlock called back, giddy in anticipation for a chase, or something else dangerous.

John shook his head, and jogged after the consulting detective. He too was cloaked in shadow as he entered the alley. Rachel craned her neck to see them, but the darkness was too absolute to peirce. It was like it purposefully gathered here, just to make her life harder, harder than her life had already been. She glanced at her watch. 3:25 in the morning. She shook her head, then realized how much like John that was, and sighed, and walked calmly into the dark of the alley. It swallowed her like a beast, and soon no one knew that the trio were there. No one but the cabby, but he'd driven away. And besides, he'd already been payed off by Moriarty not to tell anyone. So Rachel walked unsuspecting into the dark. Her eyes adjusted slowly to the dim light, and she quickly found John and Sherlock. They got in a group, and walked deeper into the gloom of the alley. Deeper into the ambush just waiting to happen, to spring, to snap and enclose them. Deeper into Moriarty's trap.

And she knew all along, just like with her parents, and her life, and the orphanage. She knew all along it would be hard to come back out.

**A/N- I have thought up TWO (Count them, two!) different endings to this story. One is dark, and one is light. To be honest, I kind of like the dark one best, but that's for the readers to determine! Realize this though: Just because it's dark, doesn't mean Rachel loses. :) I can't wait for the finale! I hope to resume my chapter a day standards, since I'm back from Mackinac Island. And once again, I'll ask you, no, PLEAD you to comment and review. Constructive criticism is everything!**

**-Misty**


	30. Chapter 30

Chapter 30- Light

The group gathered in the middle of the alley. Under his mask of emotionlessness, Sherlock looked excited, while John looked sick. Rachel didn't know what to feel. Anticipation? Dread? Or fear, fear for her life, and the lives of her friends. She couldn't decide, and then came up with a solution.

_I'll turn my emotions off._ Rachel decided. It was better that way. She understood how Sherlock coped with all the stress and hardship. He simply turned it off, stopped comprehending what his mind was processing. Rachel did that now. So she could honestly say that she wasn't fearful, and she wasn't dreading what lay in the shadow.

She put on a mask, a brave face, and walked by the detectives farther down the alley. Sherlock's pace was brisk, but Rachel didn't mind. She shivered. It was remarkably cold in the alley. But when she saw the figure ahead of her, she forgot about the cold temperature.

The figure stood at the end of the alley, much like how Kenny had stood under the streetlamp when Rachel had first met him. One of the figure's legs was propped up against the wall of the alley, making it evident that he was leaning on it.

_Moriarty._ Rachel knew it was him. That aura that had always surrounded him was here, seeming to stifle everything in the darkness.

"This place is a bit not good for a meeting." Rachel began. She knew Sherlock would've said roughly the same thing.

"Yes, well." Moriarty strode over to them. "Someone tipped off someone else, so I have to be extra careful."

"This isn't what I'd call 'careful,' Moriarty." John spoke up, surprising Rachel. She'd thought he'd remain silent through most of this.

"Well then, I'm expanding my horizons." Moriarty said harshly, falling into step with the group. They stopped as he did this, and the four stood in the alley, staring each other down.

"Get to it." Sherlock said warningly. "We don't want games."

"Really? Because you and Rachel have certainly enjoyed them so far." Moriarty said cruelly. "But if you wish," He spoke with mock sincerity. "here." He pulled out a package, and gave it to Rachel. "Well?" He asked when she paused. "Open it!"

Rachel kept her mask on. She tore the paper off, and opened the little wooden box slowly, making sure it didn't trigger something. Inside was another photo, and another message. The photo was of the stars, shining between the tops of two buildings. Underneath, in Moriarty's penmanship, was written a small phrase.

_#1 - Up_

Rachel sighed, and even though her new mask was on, she let loose a startled gasp as she looked up. Above her was the sky, just as in the picture. Stars gleamed, and the moon was faintly visible behind a misty cloud. But what shocked her was something else. There were outlines in the sky. Outlines of figures, who were all looking at them.

Moriarty snapped his fingers, and those figures turned on the aiming lights to their rifles. Rachel flashed back to the pool. It was the same. Outnumbered, outgunned, only Moriarty's mercy would save them.

"Oh Rachel." Moriarty began walking around the group, like a hungry shark. "Why didn't you come back? I gave you plenty of chances." He stopped in front of her. "But we're just too stubborn, aren't we?"

Rachel remained quiet, so Moriarty continued. "I had hoped that I wouldn't have to do this. But you left me no choice." His words actually sounded slightly pained. "If you won't join me, then you'll _burn._ And then maybe I'll kill you." He studied his fingernails. "I don't know. Whatever suits me."

"Well then. What suits you right now?" Rachel asked hoarsely. Her mask was slowly slipping, revealing more of her emotions. She hated herself for letting it do so.

Sherlock cut in. He'd been watching despondently until now. "I doubt Moriarty wants to bore us with his opinions. Perhaps we could make agreements of some sort? Moriarty doesn't kill us in exchange for me not killing him." Sherlock raised a gun to Moriarty, who looked at it almost happily.

This was all absurd. They were discussing how Rachel wasn't on Moriarty's side, while it hardly mattered, since he could murder them right now, and they could murder him. And Moriarty seemed happy because of this!

"I'm disappointed." Moriarty's words were clear, like clinking glass, but there was a hidden sharp edge. "That you would be so unimaginative, Sherlock. Sometimes I think I was wrong about you." He looked to Rachel as he said this. "All of you. You're ordinary. You're so ordinary."

Rachel watched, not knowing what to do. This was so random, so offtopic. She had no idea how to respond.

"I don't know what I'm going to do!" Moriarty put his face in his hands. "After all, all my entertainment is now subdued." Rachel didn't want to know what subdued was. He turned to Rachel. "I'll give you one last chance." He said. "To be an apprentice again. I won't lie to you. I will burn you for all of this. But in the end, the effects will be much less... _permanent._"

Rachel stood rigidly. She barely registered the sole word coming out of her mouth. "No." She paused. "I'm sorry, but death is highly preferable to tutoring by a maniac."

Moriarty sighed, and signalled to the snipers above. Cracks resounded through the night as they fired. The trio did the only thing they could do. They scattered.

The snipers were reloading, and by some mystery, none of them had been shot. "Run!" John yelled. His inner soldier had come out, and at the best time possible. "Run!" Sherlock handed the gun to John, because he was the better shot while running. John pocketed it, not wanting to waste the precious few shots they had.

Rachel didn't really need to be told to run. She sprinted with all her might, as fast as she could go. She was vaguely aware of Sherlock and John running too, Sherlock in the lead by a good ten meters. John was almost level with her.

She looked back over at Moriarty, who was strolling after them. At first she didn't comprehend why, but then she saw the figure at the end of the alley, baring their way.

"I'd stop before you reach him, if I were you." Moriarty called over to them, still strolling over in their direction.

Rachel and John stopped short, and jumped to the side when the snipers fired again, but Sherlock continued, toward the guard. There was only one, but he was a head taller than Sherlock, and yet Sherlock continued towards him.

"Sherlock!" John yelled, still ducking to avoid bullets.

"Don't worry John! Everything is under control!" Sherlock certainly didn't sound like everything was under control. He ran up the guard, and stopped a few feet away. The burly man stepped forward, attempting to scare him back. Sherlock drew something from his coat, but so the man in front of him couldn't see. Then he sprang up simply, and used the pepper spray he'd hidden so well.

The guard only coughed at first, but Sherlock just used more, until the poor man was on the ground, trying to find breath. Rachel almost felt sorry. Almost.

Sherlock searched the now unconscious man to make sure he didn't carry any weapons. But as soon as he'd done this, another man walked over and blocked the way. Sherlock sighed. Where did Moriarty find these people?

John looked over to Rachel. He couldn't find her where he'd thought she was. He looked about franticly. When he found her, his heart almost stopped. She was walking up to Moriarty. Moriarty called off the snipers with a flick of a finger, and they both stopped, looking at each other.

"I'm okay with being burned. And being your apprentice." Rachel said, not sure what she was saying. "But you have to let them go." She gestured at Sherlock and John. Sherlock apparently hadn't even realized that Rachel was doing this, because he kept looking at the guard.

"I'll kill them eventually. Why not now?" Moriarty asked.

"Because I'm making a deal with you. One you don't want to pass up on." Rachel knew the words were true, but she still hated them.

Moriarty made a face. "What makes you think you're that valuable?"

"Because none of your snipers have hit us yet. If you wanted me dead, I'd be lying on the ground, dead right now. You want to scare me into submission." Rachel said. "However I know you'll resort to actually killing us if I don't join you. So here's your choice. You can get me as an apprentice. But you have to let them go safely." She barely knew what she was saying. "Safely means not dead, not injured, not maimed, or broken in any way."

John watched, awestruck. What was Rachel doing? He stood up from his crouch, and went over. "Rachel! What are you doing!"

"I'm doing the right thing, John. That's what I'm doing." Rachel turned to Moriarty. "Do we have a deal?" She held out her hand to shake on it.

Sherlock was silently watching now. There was nothing he could do, but he still hated it. He'd failed the case, and for once it wasn't John helping him, it was a little girl, who was probably going to regret this moment the rest of her life.

Moriarty took her hand, and shook it with finality. Rachel felt like she'd just made a deal with the devil. "Deal." Moriarty said, looking over at Sherlock and the guard. "Let them go!" He called over.

"Rachel-" John tried.

"Go." Rachel snarled angrily. "I should've done this on my own." When John tried again to intervene, she cut him off before he'd even made a word. "Get out of here." She said angrily.

John turned, and dashed after Sherlock, who'd already started walking past the guard, who now let him through. They both turned the corner, and were gone, Sherlock having to drag John so he didn't come back, and try something stupid.

Rachel sighed. One thing to do now. Her hand went to her pocket, where she'd concealed the gun John had had. She'd pickpocketed him when he came over to her.

Moriarty smiled that vampire smile. "I didn't think you'd come that easily, to be honest." He said, shrugging.

"You thought correctly." Rachel pulled out the gun she'd pickpocketed off John, and aimed it at Moriarty. She had never used a gun, had never killed anything, but she was determined to learn if need be.

"Ah." Moriarty smiled. He was still enjoying this. "You realize if you shoot, my snipers will take you down, for real this time."

"Yes." Rachel honestly didn't care what the snipers did to her.

"Well then." Moriarty smiled cruelly. "Do it." Two little words, no more than two words, but they meant everything. _Do it._

So Rachel did. She fired, and Moriarty crumpled, like a puppet with it's strings cut. He fell down, seeming to crash onto the asphalt, and lay there, still. Still as the grave, with a little hole in his forehead, where Rachel had shot him. Rachel hoped that he was really dead. Actually dead. Not coming back, just dead.

The snipers fired at this, and Rachel jumped away. And by some miracle, some mystery she would never solve, some enigma that the entire world wondered about but never knew, Rachel didn't get hit. She dodged to the left, and every bullet had rained down to where she had been standing moments before.

And so, she ran. The guard at the alley's mouth was still there, however. Rachel fired the gun at his feet, and he jumped to the side, enough so that Rachel got through, and then she ran, ran like nothing before, out, into the night.

Rachel didn't stop running. She kept going until she was back inside the heart of London. Until there would be witnesses if someone came after her. She kept running, even then. She scarcely breathed, and when she finally felt like she'd collapse at any second, she stopped running, and stood and caught her breath.

She looked around, found out where she was, and quickly asked a passing person which was it was to Baker Street.

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People tend to notice if you're a girl with mud and scrapes all over, shivering constantly from some ordeal, walking as though you just ran a marathon, and carrying a small firearm in your right jean pocket. And once they're focused on you, they also notice the haunted look in your eye that tells them to steer clear of you.

This is why, while Rachel walked home, everyone went around her by a good ten feet. She was glad, to be honest. It didn't help her think when there was a crowd of people brushing past her on the busy streets of London.

After a good long walk, it was almost morning, and Rachel felt dead on her feet. She'd gotten to Baker Street, and found 221B. She rang the doorbell, and the good, dependable landlady Mrs. Hudson opened the door. "Hello, Rachel dear." (Rachel had become a frequent visitor.) "What brings you here?"

"I think Sherlock and John need me again, Mrs. Hudson." Rachel lied easily.

"Yes, okay then." Mrs. Hudson opened the door and let Rachel in.

Rachel quietly climbed the stairs, and slowly opened the door, wanting to see the looks of surprise on the blogger detective's faces. She was not disappointed. Sherlock, who had been pacing, stopped and looked at her. John, who had been saying something angrily, was left with his mouth agape.

"Hello!" Rachel said happily. "Guess who just killed Moriarty?"

Sherlock recovered quickly. "It's good you're back, Rachel."

John wasn't so fast. "Wait. You- she-" He looked around, trying to find words. "You made a deal, then you shot him?"

"That makes me look like the villain. I'd say something more like 'I did the necessary deed.' And anyway, you're glad I did, so what of it?" Rachel smiled. "I pickpocketed John for the gun," She held out the gun for John to take. "And then I shot Moriarty and ran out while the snipers were reloading."

John still sat, trying to think. Sherlock swept over behind John's chair and leaned on it, looking at Rachel. "It's good to have you back, Rachel." He said again. "You're methods were a bit basic, but still."

Rachel smiled. "It's good to be back."

After a while more, John got tea, and the three were about to sit down and catch up a bit more when Mycroft stormed in. "Do you have any idea what a mess this is?" He asked angrily.

"I'm sure the British government can handle it." Sherlock remarked snidely.

"That's not the point! Your recklessness has cost me a lot, many times. But this is it! If you can't take care of yourselves, and use common sense, I'm not supporting you anymore!" He aimed this at Rachel.

"Sorry." Rachel shrugged. "I guess killing Moriarty isn't enough then?"

"No, it's not enough." Mycroft sighed, his fury vented. "Rachel, there is a case going on right now as to how Moriarty died. If they get pointed in your direction, I don't know what'll happen. You have a very good motive to kill him, and no alibi." He put a hand to his face, rubbing his eye, clearly exhausted. "If they figure it out, there's nothing I can do to stop you from going to prison."

Rachel was quiet for a bit. "I thought of that before we left. I have an alibi. I went with some friends to the movies, and those "friends" were fairly easy to fool. I hired someone that looks like me to stay with them the entire night. A solid alibi."

Mycroft was silent. "What are you going now?" He finally asked.

"I'll get an education. Try to be normal." Rachel said 'normal' like it was the best thing in the world.

Sherlock rose, and escorted Mycroft to the door, even though the older brother had no intention of leaving yet. "I'm sure Rachel will become a detective, like me. You don't need to worry."

Rachel laughed. "Yes, maybe." But after a glower from Mycroft, she sighed. "And I'll try politics as well." Rachel tried, attempting to get rid of him.

Mycroft sighed, and exited the room. Sherlock grinned at this, glad to be rid of his annoyance of a brother.

Rachel looked over at John, who was looking out the window distantly. "And I'll try medicine as well." Rachel said, and saw a smile creep onto the man's face.

"Now how about tea?"

**A/N- Sorry for the long chapter! This is the first ending, the one I'd originally come up with. I think this ending is the best, but I love the other too, for it's dark twists and evilness. *Grins evilly* Tell me how it was! And in the next chapter, please let me know which of the endings is your favorite, or why you just can't choose. Criticism welcome!**

**-Misty**


	31. Chapter 31

**A/N- You may want to read chapter 29 again, because this happens right after that. :) Just understand, this isn't continuing from chapter 30. Hope there isn't any confusion!**

Chapter 31- Dark

John and Sherlock walked farther into the alley, Rachel alongside them. Sherlock was excited, even though he'd never admit it. John looked like he'd be sick any second. Rachel put on an emotionless mask, and strode ahead of them.

It was cold in the alley, as was to be expected. Rachel shivered, and crossed her arms across her chest for warmth. She stopped when she saw the figure ahead of them.

Moriarty stood, as usual, just as he always had. A light gray suit, that was somehow more threatening than a black one, and those piercing eyes that seemed to look through you. He had one leg crossed, and was leaning against the building with that quiet, but ultimately deadly demeanor that Rachel knew so well.

"So. We're finally here, are we? Took you long enough." Moriarty straightened, and walked over. He studied his nails, as if they were intimately more interesting than the people around him.

John spoke up, expression sour. "We're not here to play games, Moriarty. What do you want?"

"I want to burn you." Moriarty said quietly, looking at Sherlock. "I want to burn all of you."

Sherlock smiled that shallow smile that told you he was faking. "How pleasant." He stepped closer to Moriarty, the madman that had almost killed him twice. "You've tried to burn me twice already, Moriarty. I doubt a third attempt will do it. Unless of course, this _is_ a fairy tale."

Moriarty turned to Rachel. "Perhaps it is." He said to himself. He focused on Rachel again. "Rachel dear, what have we learned here?"

"To never trust, Jim." Rachel said, stepping over to Moriarty's side. She smiled at them, and stood close to their would-be murderer. The act of betrayal was shocking, as if the world had stopped because of this incomprehensible deed. She stood next to the man who'd tortured her for days. Stood next to the consulting criminal, Jim Moriarty.

Sherlock stood quietly. "So this was your plan all along." He whispered, eyes gleaming.

John stood numbly. "Wait. Rachel, what is this?" He asked, seeming out of breath, as if he'd been punched.

"Isn't it obvious?" Rachel snarled. "You two fell for the biggest lie possible. Do you really think that I wouldn't break after days of nonstop torture? No. I lied, and told you I stayed strong." She looked over at Moriarty, sadly at first, but regained her demeanor. "In truth, I broke on the second day. The poison was too much. Moriarty then forced me to jump from the building, knowing about the bug Mycroft had planted, and that one of his people would save me. He forced me to befriend you, and make you trust me."

John was silent. "You were a villain all along." He said quietly. "Rachel, you still have a chance. You can still change your mind. You can still be a hero." He went hoarse at the end.

"I'm afraid not, John." Rachel clasped her hands behind her back. "Moriarty has the place surrounded. I stick one toe out of line, and we're all dead. This was his plan all along. Not the wild goose chase, not anything like that. This is his way to burn you." She smiled, looking almost as manic as Moriarty. "And I'd say it succeeded."

Sherlock finally spoke up again. "Brilliant." The one word said it all. " Build faith, then destroy the bond. That _is_ burning someone. Though I have to say, Rachel, you could have put on a more convincing act."

Rachel's emotionless mask slipped again. "What?"

"It was obvious, really. The way the codes were exactly what you thought they'd be. The way you refrained from ever calling Moriarty by his first name, as if this would give you away. The fact you still avoid certain foods, obviously those were the poisoned ones during your torturing. There were many more, subtler ways to tell. But it was always there, no matter what." Sherlock listed, looking pleased. "So really, you didn't very much burn me at all. I don't know if I can say the same for John, though."

John glared at Sherlock, then decided that he'd better glare at Rachel. "Rachel. Why didn't you at least try to get a message to us?"

"Moriarty always had a bug on me. No matter what. That way, if I even _tried_ to say something he didn't like, he'd know." Rachel said, looking at the ground. "I'm sorry, John. Really, I am. But there wasn't much I could do."

Moriarty smiled, and cut into the conversation. "Now, I think there's a matter that may come to your attention. Mrs. Hudson seems to have gotten into a little bit of a trouble. I do hope you can help her." It was perfectly clear what he implied.

Sherlock swore, rather unlike himself. John looked aghast. "Well when you get into a 'little bit of trouble,' you can count on us to not be there. Or anyone." He said angrily, and with one look from Sherlock, both counted their losses, and saved the shock from the ordeal for another time, and ran off, to save their landlady.

Rachel sighed. Mrs. Hudson deserved to be saved. She, however, did not.

Moriarty smiled that grin of his, the one that always made Rachel think he'd bite her. "Come now, Rachel. We have plenty more things to do." He strode away, and Rachel obediently followed.

Being Moriarty's apprentice hadn't been that bad, not after he'd broken her. She'd gotten more privileges, and more command over the servants in the mansion. In fact, she rather liked the dark power that Moriarty was teaching her. Ways to manipulate, ways to conquer. Ways to destroy and kill.

Yes, being Moriarty's apprentice wasn't all that bad, not after you stopped caring for others. Then it became a breeze.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX XXXXXXXX

Three months later, Rachel was yet again back at the mansion. She strode forward purposefully, the servants keeping their distance. They didn't want to get in her way. Heaven knew what would happen if they did.

Rachel smoothed out her suit with a hand, the other holding some files. Moriarty let her wear a suit if she wanted to. And her's, like his, was a light gray that had authority and darkness to it.

She walked into a nearby room, where a client sat. They didn't know what they were getting into yet, but Rachel made sure they would be hard pressed to find a way out. Even more hard pressed to get out alive.

She smiled, and sat down, analyzing the short man sitting before her with her lightning quick eyes. She smiled, happy to know she'd hurt him with the deal he was about to make. It helped a lot to hurt things. After all, her entire life had been hurt.

Rachel smiled again, and smoothed out her suit. She liked being Moriarty's apprentice. With all the string attached. And she knew that no matter what, wherever she went, she would always be labeled at such. As Moriarty's daughter. As Moriarty's apprentice.

**A/N- How's that for different? I don't know, it just kind of popped up and wouldn't go away. If you hated this ending, let me know! I think the first is more realistic, but this one has it's own charm. Anyway, tell me how you liked it! Criticism is always, always welcome, and I want to hear which ending you enjoyed most. Thanks for reading and reviewing! I couldn't have done it without you guys!**

**Also, I'll be starting a new FanFiction soon. One is a Doctor Who FanFiction, completely experimental, just like everything else I've written. Some clues as to what it's about are as follows- Lots to do with water, and Clara is kidnapped. :)**

**Another possible FanFiction I might try is a collection of anything Sherlock that makes you laugh. Not sure if I'll actually publish anything, but this is a possibility.**

**Thanks again, keep writing, have a great time reading, etc, etc!**

**-Misty**


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